


Tender Hearts

by runawaygypsy



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: AU Stripper Tom, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 66,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy





	1. Chapter 1

Tom stood back, barely peeking around the gaudy red velvet curtains of the stage, toeing the place where it transformed from the rough, stained wood of the dressing room to the shiny glass and mirrored metal of what the other men had dubbed “The Gauntlet.” His stomach was empty, save the pit of apprehension that grew inside it. His eyes swept the crowd, a sea of womens' faces that chattered in garbled conversations, eyes turned to the stage in anticipation. A hand clapped upon his shoulder. “Don't worry, man,” a voice said from beside him. Tom looked over to see the reassuring face of the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his mentor. “Stage fright,” the man said, “We all get it. But once you see those women going crazy for you, FOR YOU,” he poked Tom in the chest and shook his head with a grin, “You'll forget all about it. It's the thrill. That's what we live for. The thrill.”

Vanessa, the woman who owned the club, made an announcement over the loud-speaker and it drowned away his own thoughts. “Alright, ladies, are you ready?” she teased. “We've got something special for you tonight, but we're going to start things off with our fan favorite and reigning King of the Club, Riley Stiles.”

“Here goes nothing,” the man said as he plastered on a patent grin and slid his muscled frame through the slit in the curtains. Of course, Riley Stiles was not his real name. None of them used their real names on stage as a way of separation from what they were doing. If anything, they were good at compartmentalizing. Riley's real name was Frank Hodgson and he'd fallen into the profession after his family farm failed. Of course, the hard work in agriculture had also hardened every muscle in his body and he was a fine physical specimen. His face wasn't particularly handsome, but he'd covered the majority of it with a thick scruff, not exactly a beard, but not exactly not. The women never seemed to care. His face was not what they were looking at. Tom watched Frank move, hoping to pick up some pointers before his own debut.

Frank definitely had a way with the ladies. He started off slowly, his bare feet tapping to the techno music that pumped through the sound system, then his hips picked up the rhythm, gyrating only slightly to it as the beat seemed to move through the rest of his body. His head was kept down, offering his audience only a glimpse of his face. Mostly, they only saw his black cowboy hat, his hand grasping the crown of it until the music picked up its pace, thumping from the introduction to full-on house music. He pulled the hat from his head, throwing it into the audience, letting one of the women catch it. The woman, in this case, was a plant- Vanessa's girlfriend Kate- there only to catch the items the dancers threw, because the cost of employing her for a few hours a night was less than the cost of replacing key costume pieces. After the hat was thrown, the audience went wild. Frank gave them knowing smirks as he palmed his chest, swinging his hips as he slid his hands down to the top of his jeans, then falling to his knees as he unbuttoned them, allowing one lucky woman in the audience to unzip them, for a price. She, of course, was expected to reward his allowance with a hefty stack of bills shoved into either his waistband or his mouth, depending on how he felt that day. If the money was clutched between his teeth, chances were, he'd be seeing that woman later in the evening for a little extra-curricular activity.

Tom had also learned that Frank didn't discriminate, when it came to women. “Tom, lad,” he'd said, “In the end, they're all pussy looking to have a good time, and we're just the cock to give it to them.” There was some modicum of sadness to his voice when he said it, Tom had noted, but Frank then went on about his business with a smile, still managing to thrill the hell out of the audience and entertain in the after hours, night after night.

The strobes on the stage were flashing, making Frank's slithering out of the tight denim look even more slow motion. He had the removal of this article of clothing down to a science, managing to make even the awkward kicking off of the jeans from around his feet look eloquent and choreographed. Of course, the jeans were also thrown to Kate, setting off another round of squeals from the women.

Tom turned away and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He knew what would come next in Frank's routine. He'd seen it several times, learning each and every move from Frank as he choreographed his own performance to perfection. Each man needed his own moves, but Tom adapted Frank's as much as he could. And this was to be his first night performing in front of an audience.

He never imagined he's be here. Tom was the middle child of a Navy family, his upbringing in England for his formative years lending a particular British accent to his otherwise North Western voice. He used it to his advantage, charming people with what they imagined was candorous privilege. Of course, it could go the other way, as well. Some had the impression that he was talking down to them. Women, as he'd found out once his family moved back home to the States, were suckers for it. His voice had caused many a panty to fall, not that it did any good when his father, by then an Admiral, was killed in action, leaving Tom, his mother and his siblings, an older sister named Mary and a younger brother named Daniel, alone and destitute. At the time of the incident, Tom was enrolled in college, set to embark on his own Naval career, pending his acceptance and finishing of a two year term. He'd moved out of the family home into campus dorms, only to be uprooted by the news that, not only was he not accepted into the service because of a slight hearing problem, but that, with the death of his father, his family was destitute. His sister was married, but she lived with her husband in Germany and was unable to do anything to help, so the responsibility fell on his shoulders. In a self-sacrificing move, he quit school and moved into a tiny, two-bedroom apartment in Overtown, Florida, just north of Miami. It allowed his mother to sell the house and make enough money to keep the family afloat, but only for a limited time. She took the smaller of the bedrooms, the boys shared the larger one.

The jobs available in the area that would even consider Tom were minimum-wage. He'd never had to work to support himself, let alone anyone else, and the task of finding one that was adequate for their survival was daunting at best. He scoured the newspaper want ads, visited the library and checked internet job boards, applying and submitting his resume anywhere and everywhere he could and hoping for the best. One of these resumes fell into the hands of Cesar Acosta, a man who ran a gambling hall in South Beach. Cesar liked Tom's easy manner and found his voice calming to the patrons. The fact that Tom stood six foot two and that he'd made it a habit to work out meant that Tom also lent an imposing air to the small band of men Cesar employed as bouncers. The pay was miniscule, though. Tom kept hoping for some sort of promotion, dealer, bodyguard, anything to make more of a living wage, but Cesar refused, paying only the contracted amount, 1% of the nightly take. It was still barely enough to scrape by on.

Tom's mother, meanwhile, began to take ill, her already frail frame wracked with coughs as her habit of smoking began to take its toll on her. He was afraid of the diagnosis and unable to take her to get the necessary medical attention. Desperate times called for desperate measures. In what he would later describe as the “Most asinine thing I've ever done,” Tom planned to skim from the gambling hall. His plan involved one of the dealers, a small Russian man who went by the name of Kina and harbored a huge resentment over his own treatment by Cesar. Together, they conspired to mark the cards at the Blackjack table and pocket the house winnings for themselves. While their plan wasn't particularly bad, the fact that they chose to put it into action on the same day a man from the gambling commission chose to inspect the business was. As a result, Tom and Kina managed to not only find themselves still broke, but also unemployed as Cesar Acosta was found to have been laundering money for the Cuban underground. The gambling commission closed his club down and, while they didn't arrest Acosta, they made life difficult for him. From that day on, Cesar Acosta had a chip on his shoulder and swore he would see Tom and Kina pay him back, no matter what.

Kina disappeared after that, Tom presumed he'd done what he himself didn't have the luxury of doing- move far, far away. Desperate to make enough money to not only survive, but to pay off Cesar Acosta and keep himself alive, Tom took to wandering the streets, pestering the very shysters he should have avoided to hire him for odd jobs, shady or not. He found himself clutched in the unforgiving jaws of the street, about to be devoured, when Frank found him.

The night Frank found Tom, he was running bets in an underground boxing league for a shady shark named Benny. Tom had seen through the last fight and was counting Benny's take when one of the boxers accused him of fixing the odds. He was beaten, bruised and broken within an inch of his life and left in an alley behind Cordero's Liquor on First Street. Tom was never sure what Frank was in the area for and was afraid to ask, he knew only that the big man had hoisted his own muscled physique easily over his shoulders and taken him home to treat his wounds, without so much as a question. When Tom had fully gained consciousness, his only question to Frank was, “Why?”

“I can tell you're a good looking kid and you have heart,” Frank answered. He was gruff, soft-spoken, a man who let actions speak for him, Tom would find out. “Why are you in that crowd, anyway? It's a good way to get yourself killed, or permanently on the missing list.”

Tom explained his circumstances, alluding to his mother's illness, his father's death, skirting what he could of Cesar Acosta and his involvement in the gambling fiasco, leaving out Kina altogether, not even sure if the man was still breathing. “I can't think of any other way I can make the money I need,” he finished with. “Legally, at least.”

After taking Tom home to wash up and get a clean change of clothes, Frank introduced him to Carla's. The club was named after the original owner, purchased by Vanessa and Kate when Carla decided to retire. It was such a South Beach institution they decided it was in the best interest of the business just to keep it that way. Carlas's was closed when Frank brought Tom in, vacant except for the owners and their alcohol supplier, Jimmy, who was delivering an order to them. “Hey, Van,” Frank greeted with a smile as he opened the back door, “I've got someone for you to meet.” 

As Tom stepped through the door, it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the murky darkness of the club. Once they did, he saw that the interior was covered entirely in soft black leather, a bar on the opposite side all polished rosewood, the shelves of drinks behind it glass and chrome, the wall mirrored to reflect the multitude of half-empty liquor bottles. Next to that was a DJ booth, done similarly. The entrance on the opposite side of him was a heavy oak door, its back pitted with decades' worth of thumbtack holes and overly-sticky tape from the previous habit of posting flyers on it. He could see that someone had gone through the effort of refinishing it, but not sanding it down to smoothness beforehand. Jutting into the center of the room from the wall next to him was a glass and chrome stage, barely large enough for one person, and behind that, a stand of velvet curtains that led to the dressing room, he thought. 

“Hello,” he waved, smiling nervously at the two women with whom he was now facing. 

The taller of the two, a woman with wild curly red hair, over-freckled skin, and bright green eyes, dressed in tight, low-slung jeans and a black muscle tee with the club's logo on it stepped forward. She held out her hand and said, “I'm Vanessa. Aren't you a pretty one.” Her voice was clear and concise, not the least bit muddled by her Southern twang.

The other woman, shorter, darker, every bit her counterpart's opposite in looks, cleared her throat. “Easy there, love,” she said, her voice darker, “He might be pretty, but not for you.” She took her spot next to Vanessa. “I'm Kate,” she introduced, her voice flat and, unlike Vanessa's, obscured by her own Bronx mumbling. “Van here is my girl. We're the club owners.”

Tom nodded, taking note. Vanessa, he guessed, was bisexual and Kate was her love, maybe her wife. He observed the interaction between them and decided he was right. “Nice to meet you,” he replied cordially.

“I gather you're here for a job?” Vanessa asked, ignoring Kate's demeanor.

Glancing over to Frank, Tom nodded. “I guess so,” he answered apprehensively. 

Vanessa laughed, her hearty voice carrying around the empty room. “You don't know what it is we do here, do you?”

He nodded slowly. “Stripping,” he breathed out, the uncomfortableness of the word hanging in the air in front of him for a moment while he waited for confirmation.

“I like to call it male entertainment,” Vanessa winked. “Tell, me, Tom, do you like to dance?”

That was what started it all... he had two weeks in training with Frank, acting as a waiter and DJ as needed during the evening hours, pocketing more in tips than he ever had running gambling or any of the other illegal activities he'd been involved in. He would have been perfectly happy to keep doing those jobs, but he knew his time was limited. All the men there worked the stage. There was no choice.

With a sigh, Tom waited for Frank's routine to be finished. He knew there would be a small intermission where Vanessa would try to drum up bar sales and allow her customers bathroom time to freshen up and then it would be his turn.


	2. Chapter 2

“Evie, wait!” his voice echoed in her mind. She didn't wait. She didn't want to see him again, ever. The sight of him, buried balls deep between the legs of his secretary, Selina, was burned into the backs of her eyelids. 

Evangelina had arrived home early, with the intent of surprising Chas on the anniversary of their first date. She'd arranged to have dinner delivered from his favorite restaurant, had bought some new, sexy lingerie and was home just in time to clean the place up, take a shower to freshen herself up, and get dressed in the newest dress he'd bought her. Her intention was for it to be perfect because he was perfect, they were perfect. When he'd asked her to marry him, she said, “Yes,” instantly. She knew their life together was meant to be perfect. 

She hid in the bathroom, clutching her chest and gasping for air. “I don't want to talk to you!” she screamed as loud as her voice would allow her. “Just... get out!” Evie shook, but she wasn't sure if it was from shock, disappointment, anger, a combination of the three. She only knew that it felt like her heart had been sucked out of her chest through a straw and that she could barely breathe. Her cheeks were wet, the front of her white blouse soaked, but she didn't remember crying.

Chas knocked on the door. “You can't stay in there forever,” he said, his voice barely muffled by the hollow door.

“Watch me,” she spat, tasting the bitter venom of betrayal grow in her stomach.

He tried to push the door open. “Evie, I'm sorry. She means nothing to me.”

Evie could hear Selena's voice, the soft cadence of Spanish that wafted through the townhouse would have been musical, if not for the fact that Evie hated her. Chas said something to her, there was a moment of quiet before the sound of feet pattering down the stairs and then the slam of the front door shutting a few minutes later. “You kissed her, didn't you?” Evie accused, knowing full well that Chas would deny it.

To her surprise, he didn't. “Yes,” he admitted, “I kissed her goodbye.” He didn't sound remorseful at all.

She threw her head against the back of the door, hard enough to feel the pain of it, to feel something other than the heartbreak, but not enough to damage anything. “How long has it been going on, Chas?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Six months,” he answered. “I've been fucking her for six months.”

Doing the math in her head, she sobbed, “Six months? You've been fucking her since before you proposed to me?” She stood up and willed herself to open the door. Grasping the handle, she threw it against the wall, leaving a decided dent in the wall behind it. “Why the fuck did you even ask me to marry you if you were fucking that... tramp... all along?” 

Chas shrugged. “My parents, hell, you, even your parents, expected it.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall opposite her. He didn't even attempt to charm her like he usually did when they argued- flashing his megawatt white smile, running his hands through his dirty blond hair, winking at her with his grass green eyes, smiling so she could see the deep dimples in his cheeks. He was a man who normally tried to get through everything by looks alone.“I don't love you, Evie,” he admitted, words that felt like a butcher knife to the heart. “I never did.” The knife dug in deeper. “I was attracted to you, yes. We had great sex. But I don't love you.” His words twisted in her gut, rendering her.

She doubled over, felt like she was going to be sick. “Why did you let me believe you did?” Her words were a thin cry, barely audible above the pain that screamed through her. “Why?”

He was apathetic. “I didn't want to hurt you.”

Blind rage welled up in her, burning her to the core. “You didn't hurt me,” she seethed, “You destroyed me!” She fought the urge to throw something, anything at him, to inflict as much pain as humanly possible, and it was too powerful for her to resist. As her fighting instinct took over, she slipped her foot out of one heeled shoe, bent down to pick it up and aimed it, the force of it's trajectory hitting him square in the forehead. 

“Fuck!” He yelped. “That was uncalled for.” The shoe had clattered to the floor, but had left an angry red welt right over the bridge of his nose. Chas rubbed the mark and scowled. “Crazy bitch,” he mumbled under his breath as he turned to leave. 

Evie's eyes trailed him as he walked down the hallway. “I don't ever want to see you again,” she yelled as he descended the stairs. “Leave the key by the door. I'll have your things sent to you.” The front door creaked open, a sound she could barely hear, and then slammed forcefully shut- one last vestige of Chas.

The townhouse was steeped in silence, but it was of little comfort. The air was thick with emotion, stifling as Evie moved sluggishly through it. She wanted to rid herself of anything and everything his, but the afternoon exhausted her. Rather that sleep in her own bed, because she knew it would not only smell like Chas, but also Selena, Evie curled into a ball on the slate gray sofa, covered herself with a soft green throw that was usually reserved more for looking nice than actual use, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she woke, it was only because her stomach was growling. Glancing at the gaudy art nouveau clock on the wall, she squinted, making out the time. Ten of seven. Oh, God,she thought, I need to cancel the meal. She knew it was too late, though. She'd ordered all of Chas' favorites, none of her own, in anticipation that she'd be sampling, as usual. Now, the thought of eating food he liked, that he would have chosen, made her nauseous. The knock on the door, followed by the greeting from the delivery man of, “I've got your order!” was enough to leave a cold stone in the pit of her stomach.

“Be there in a minute,” she returned as she stood up, letting the blanket drop to the floor. She was sure she looked like hell as she opened the door. She was also sure she didn't care. Grabbing her credit card from her pocketbook on the entry table, she said, “Check my card and deliver it to the homeless shelter on Burke.” 

The man set the bags down by his feet. Wide-eyed, he looked back up at her. “Are you sure?” he asked, incredulous as he took her card to verify the numbers on his receipt. When Evie nodded at him, he grinned, “Wow, that sure is generous of you!” 

Evie took the card back from him and tossed it at the table, barely missing and letting the card land with a plastic thwack on the floor. She shrugged and smirked, the closest she could muster to as smile, and watched with little interest as he picked the bags back up, turned around and headed for the bank of elevators. She closed the door and didn't wait to see if he got on.

Just the energy she expended on that little task was enough to wipe her out again. She leaned against the door and slid down, resting her head on her arms on bent knees. She didn't want to think, didn't want to move, didn't want to be.

As Evie's mind drifted, she came to the beginning of their relationship. She'd met Chas at a dinner party, thrown by his parents in their home in the Hamptons. Her whole family had been invited, seeing as how her father had recently hired Chas as a lawyer with his firm. They hit it off easily, talking, though she couldn't remember the topic of conversation, dancing, flirting. She remembered him wearing trousers and a shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up, thinking he looked out of place- formal in a completely casual setting. Except, as time went on, she learned that Chas was always business, always formal. At the end of the night, as they sat on the weathered Adirondak chairs on the porch of the house, gazing at the midnight blues of the ocean, he'd asked if he could call her. She remembered feeling special that he'd singled her out. There were so many other women there that were more gorgeous than she, more glamorous. In fact, a woman who was a beautiful, buxom brunette with the perfect hourglass figure had pegged him from the beginning. Each time Chas was alone, she would find him, but he always shrugged her off, returning to his easy rapport with Evie. 

Now, she wondered if the entire relationship had been a lie. With the official announcement of their relationship, Chas received a raise. Once they'd become engaged, her father had promoted him to Senior Partner. Of course, she'd justified that because one of the other partners had announced her retirement just prior to that. She hated to think her own father was guilty of nepotism.

Standing up, Evie turned and gazed at her own reflection in the mirror. She wasn't ugly, but she certainly wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Her mother often described her as “Girl Next Door,” and she could see that, with her honey blonde hair, normally hanging in large ringlets about her shoulders, now scraggly and moppish. She had bright blue eyes that sparkled with light and humor, usually, but, after today's fiasco seemed dull and lifeless in her reflection, rimmed by red from tears, framed by the dark circles of exhaustion. Her mouth, far from sultry and sexy, was still pretty. She had soft lips, slightly thin, but drawn into a bow, pink and perfect. Normally, her cheeks were rosy from laughter, but the life was drawn from them, leaving nothing but sallow skin. Shaking her head, she stuck her tongue out at herself. You were not enough. Her thought hung in the air like a noxious gas, making her look away from herself in disgust.

As she moved back into the living room, Evie grabbed a crystal decanter of whiskey from the mantel. It belonged to Chas, but she wasn't thinking about him, she didn't want to. She only seeked to warm the coldness that she felt growing inside her. Picking up the blanket from the floor, she sat down and set the decanter on the coffee table. She wrapped herself up in a warm cocoon and stared at the bottle as though willing it to rise off the table of its own volition and pour itself down her throat. Finally, she picked it back up and, after inspecting its amber glow in the phosphene light of the single lamp she'd lit, opened her mouth and drank it all. The liquid ran down her throat, warming it to a near burn, searing her. It made the pain begin to fade, and for that, she was grateful. She leaned into the corner of the sofa, head resting on the arm, closed her eyes and fell asleep again, her arms cradling the empty decanter.

There was a pounding on the door- loud, abrupt- that woke her. She opened her eyes to only slits, feeling the cobwebs of sleep dissipate as she sat up. A key rattled in her lock as she set her feet on the floor and felt an immediate, sharp pain shoot through the sole of one of them. Drawing her feet back up and peering over her knees, she saw the now-bloody, shattered remains of the whiskey decanter, the crystal shining like precious gems in the early morning sunlight that flooded the room. Evie took a deep breath and lifted her foot up to inspect the damage. The cut was small, for the amount of blood spilled. 

“What in God's Green Hell is going on?” she heard a voice from behind her. 

She knew the voice. She'd heard it since childhood. “Hello, Amelia,” she replied calmly. 

Her best friend walked around the sofa and stood looking down at her with disapproval. “Will you tell me what the hell has been going on?” Amelia demanded, drawing her hands akimbo on her hips and tapping her foot like an impatient school marm. “You don't answer your phone, I couldn't get hold of you through texts, Facebook, nothing. I even had to grab the Super to come open the door for me.”

Evie's head was swimming. She looked blearily up at Amelia and paused. “What do you mean?” she asked, uncertain as to why her friend was now in a state of obvious agitation. “I talked with you yesterday.” Yesterday, she remembered a long conversation with Amelia about her plans with Chas for the night, even going so far as to tell her they were going to pick a date for the wedding that night. Chas, she thought, her heart beginning the cycle of ache and anger all over again.

“Evie,” Amelia's expression softened, “It's been four days. Nobody has been able to get in contact with you for anything. You missed our weekly tennis game. I even called Chas and he had no clue.”

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Evie steeled herself. “Chas and I are through,” she said.

“What?” It was obvious by the tone in her voice that Chas hadn't told Amelia about anything.

Evie opened her eyes. She wasn;t sure how she appeared to Amelia, but she felt the cold pit beginning to form again. “I came home to find him having sex with Selena on our bed.”

Amelia approached the sofa and kicked the broken crystal out of the way. She sat down next to Evie. “That bastard,” she seethed. “How? Why?” She could tell Evie was still shaken and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

Evie took the gesture, leaning into Amelia's shoulder. “Oh, Meelie,” she began to sob, “What's wrong with me? He told me he never loved me.”

“Evie,” Amelia cooed, “You are perfect. You're beautiful, you're talented, he's lost a wonderful thing.”

Cries wracked through Evie. Every pent-up emotion cascading out on Amelia's shoulder. “He only wanted me for my money, for the leverage it gave him with my father in the firm,” she wailed. “And now I don't even know if I really loved him.”

“Well, he's a rat bastard,” Amelia growled. “Let's get you cleaned up and gorgeous,” she said, wiping Evie's tears from her face as they subsided. “You need something to cheer you up.”


	3. Chapter 3

Evie didn't want to climb out of the shower, watching the steam furling and unfurling in curls that wafted around her as the warmth of the water beat down on her weary body was relaxing. She was lucky in that her townhouse was in one of the most posh communities in Miami, which meant the builders spared no expense. Her water heater could run all day, she could sit down on the marble floor and stay in the shower all day, all night, and still have hot water. The floor, however, though beautiful to look at, was cold no matter what and hard and wholly uncomfortable. Just as Amelia began to knock on the door, Evie made the decision to get out. "I'm just getting out," she announced in the direction of the door as she opened the glass and reached for a fluffy blue towel that was hanging on its bar on the wall.

"Good, because I'm coming in," Amelia responded. The door handle turned and she stepped in. "God, I can barely see." She tried to wave some of the steam away. Having been childhood friends, it was not unusual for either Evie or Amelia to barge in when they needed. The only thing unusual was that Amelia brought Evie's cell phone. "Your mom is on the line," Amelia said softly as she handed it over. "She sounds upset."

Evie rolled her eyes. "I suppose she's heard," she groaned as she wrapped the towel around herself and held out her hand. "Hello, Mother," she said, her voice curt.

"Evangeline Marie," her mother began. 

Amelia could hear her shrill voice from across the room, shook her head and mouthed, "Sorry." 

Evie took a deep breath as her mother continued. "What is this I hear about your breaking engagement with Chas? You know, this wedding has already begun. I've reserved a wedding planner- George Montouth. He's the best, you know. The Carrolls used him for their daughter Grace's wedding last year and I intend to top that event."

"Mother, you don't understand," Evie huffed, barely able to get a word in edgewise over her mother's frantic diatribe. Finally, she yelled into the receiver, "He cheated on me!"

There was a moment of silence. Amelia was in awe, her mouth agape at Evie's sudden show of defense, and she whispered, "Tell her," under her breath, rooting for her friend.

Her mother sighed, her exasperation coming through the receiver more loudly than she probably anticipated. "Sometimes, you just need to swallow your pride and look past these indiscretions," she groaned. "Your social standing is much more important than a little horseplay."

Evie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Horseplay?" she echoed. "Horseplay? He's been carrying on with his secretary for six months, even before he proposed. That's hardly horseplay. And my social standing is worth less than my emotional balance. If you love him so much, you marry him!" She clicked the phone off and stifled the urge to throw it against the wall and be done with it.

"Come on," Amelia comforted as she pulled Evie close to her, letting her tears fall hot and hard against her shoulder. "He's a dog. He doesn't deserve your tears."

"I know, Evie sobbed, "I just feel so abandoned."

Amelia pulled her into the hallway and wiped away her tears. "You're not abandoned," she smiled. "You've still got me, Sis, and I'm not like your mom. I see what trash Chas was. You're better off without him."   
Evie sniffled, "I know."

By the time Amelia was finished helping Evie pick out an outfit, the entire contents of the closet was piled on the floor and the decision was made that she would be wearing a blue peasant top with cut-outs over the shoulders, a pair of black skinny jeans, and knee-high boots that were black with gold embellishments. "You look fantastic!" Amelia exclaimed with appreciation for her own handiwork.

"Too bad I don't feel fantastic," Evie scowled. "Where are we going, anyway?"  
Amelia winked at her. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

Their destination was completely apparent once Amelia steered her car in the direction of South Beach. Evie leaned her head back on the seat and groaned. "Meelie, I don't think I can handle South Beach. I mean, I really don't feel like dancing and I certainly don't feel like picking up any guys."

"Relax," Amelia smiled, "We're not picking up any guys. Well, none that are straight, anyhow." She reached down and changed the station on the radio from the slow jazz it was set on to something more upbeat, classic rock. "Before we go anywhere else, I'm also kidnapping Cory and Nick."

Their names put an immediate smile on Evangeline's face. Where she and Amelia had been fast friends, meeting in fifth grade and forming an inseparable bond, Cory and Nick were their male counterparts- same age, met at the same time, same class. The only difference was the two of them turned out to be so much more than just good friends, something that was apparent as they came out together in high school. "I haven't seen them forever!" she exclaimed. "Last I heard, they were going on vacation in Iceland."

"Who goes to Iceland for vacation?" Amelia shook her head in disbelief. 

"Anyhow, the three of us have conspired to take your mind off of Chas."

"Ugh, please don't mention his name." Evie's face puckered in disgust. "Just, nothing too crazy, okay? I don't want it to be like Spring Break back in college where you three convinced me to sign up for that bikini competition and I got so nervous I threw up all over the judges."

Amelia chuckled. "I'm 99% sure that the tequila had a lot to do with that."  
Evie shot her a sharp look. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Amelia nodded, "I do."

Cory and Nick lived in an apartment that was on top of a bodega on Front Street. They had a view of the ocean, if you looked between the towering buildings behind them. Their home was modestly furnished, sparse and utilitarian, with exception to their insistence on the crystal chandelier in the living room. Where it would have looked out of place in anyone else's home, in theirs it was a showpiece, throwing glints of light all over the light gray walls, making them seem nearly silver. Evie never failed to be fascinated by it. "You know, Doll," Nick said as he sidled up to her while she stared, "For not much, I could fix you up with one of those in your own place. I mean, now that you no longer have to worry about someone else's opinion." He smacked his lips in disdain.

She shook her head. "Thanks, Nicky," she answered, "But I don't think it would match."

Cory scoffed, his attention drawn from his quiet conversation with Amelia. "Evie-girl," he called, addressing her by his pet name, the only one that could get away with it because it rolled off his tongue with a peculiar accent, "Give me a weekend and I would make it work."

She could't help but turn over her shoulder and smile. "Thanks for the offer, Cor," she replied. "I'm not even sure I want to stay there, now."

He scowled. "Don't let that man ruin your prime real estate," he said, then grinned, "Of course, if you are thinking of leaving, Nick and I would be down for a trade." He knew he would never talk her into it, but, ever since her mother had gifted her the townhouse for college graduation, he'd had his eye on it and never failed to make a play for it some way, somehow.

Cory's mouth fell in shock when Evangeline answered, "Maybe not forever, but I could use a change of scenery. Would you like to trade for a couple weeks?"

He nodded and Nick exclaimed, "Really? You'd... Really?"

She barely believed it herself, but the words had come out deliberately. "Sure," she smiled. "How about we start, say, tonight?"

"What about your stuff?" Amelia asked. "You have the clothes on your back, right now, and that's it."

Evie shrugged. "I'll get my stuff in the afternoon." She was encompassed by the arms of both the men, their gratitude coming out in droves as they squeezed her. It felt good and she felt better than she had in days. 

After packing what Cory and Nick needed into the trunk of Amelia's car, the four of them crowded into the cab. Though Evie asked where they were taking her several times, Amelia would only smile, Cory would chuckle and Nick's only answer was, "You'll just have to see." 

For Evie, it all seemed suspicious. Finally, she closed herself off, choosing not to partake in any of the other animated conversation. She found that, as much as she didn't want to think about Chas, she couldn't turn that part of her brain off. Each thought was related to him in some way and it unnerved her. She tried to distract her mind with other things, people watching as the car sped by them, the dirt under her manicure, the lights that signaled the city coming to life for the night, anything trivial. When they pulled into the parking lot off an alley, she thought nothing of it, occupied as she was with other thoughts.

"Alright, everyone ashore!" Nick called gleefully as he threw open the car door. He slammed it shut and opened Evie's door, nearly spilling her on the sidewalk as she leaned against it, still distracted.

"Hey!" she yelped as he grabbed her elbow to keep her from hitting the pitted pavement. 

He laughed. "Would you rather I let you fall?" Letting go of her elbow, he offered her his hand instead. "Doll."

Evie grasped his hand and let him help her from the car. "Thanks, Nicky-poo," she returned. "Where are we?"

Cory shouted from the other side of the car, "Only the best club in South Beach!"

"I said no clubs," she whined at Amelia, her face worried. "I don't want to dance. Just get me some drinks, let me forget."

Amelia smiled, joining Cory in his unbridled enthusiasm. "This is not just any club," she replied. "This is Carla's." She was afraid they were going to have to drag Evie by her ear into the club, reluctant as she was to the idea of going anywhere, but she was pleasantly surprised when her friend shuffled along after them, her arm looped through Nick's elbow, her face in a decided pout.

Carla's was new to Evie. She'd heard the name, that it was an institution in South Beach, that the drinks were good. The only thing she cared about at the moment were the drinks. 

As she held onto Nick, her eyes darted around the area. It seemed nice, not like the skeevy areas away from the beach where you were as likely to get jumped as find your drug of choice, and she relaxed a little, leaning her head on Nick's shoulder as he opened the door to the club for her.

Inside, it was dark. There were lights, but it had a smoky ambiance. Nick pulled out a chair for her at a table near a stage, helped her sit, then took a seat himself between her and Cory. "Is this a show?" she whispered.

"In a manner of speaking," he smirked.

Evie searched for Amelia, who'd gone in first and mysteriously disappeared before the rest of them, but she was nowhere to be found. She tapped her fingers nervously on the table, taking a deep breath, regretting that she's let herself be talked into... whatever it was they were doing.

When Amelia found them, she possessed a self-satisfied grin. "I've got a surprise for you, but you'll have to wait to find out what it is," she announced. Evie knew it was no use to even try and get a smidgen of a hint from her, so, instead, she concentrated on more people-watching. She realized that the patrons of the club were a majority of women, that Cory and Nick were two of six men seated, and of those six men, two of them looked like they worked there.

One of the men she's assumed worked there confirmed her suspicion when he navigated his way to their table and asked if they'd had time to think about what they wanted to drink. He was dressed unassumingly in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, black cowboy boots, and a black t-shirt which Evie could now see said, "Carla's" in red lettering over the pocket. 

"I'll have vodka on the rocks, please," she said, nodding as he smiled at her. Though he was the one standing, she felt unnerved by the smile, feeling put on display herself by him. She was relieved when he finished taking their orders and left.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom waited, his eyes closed, his breathing steady, as though he were meditating instead of waiting for Vanessa to announce him. He heard his cue and his eyes popped open, adjusting quickly to the light from the stage that spilled through the slit he'd peeked through in the curtains. The theme from the "James Bond " films began to play, their familiar tones sounding tinny over the club's PA system. "And now, ladies and gentlemen," Vanessa boomed over the mic, " Straight from our neighbor across the pond, in his American stage debut, I give you our very own British secret agent, Jonathan Preston."

As soon as she said his name, his stage name, Tom stepped through the curtains. He began by holding a plastic gun gripped in his hands, arms outstretched and sweeping past the crowd, hoping his hands weren't shaking too terribly much. With a flick of his wrists, he tossed it into the audience.

The crowd went wild the moment he stepped all the way on the stage, the mostly female voices shrieking with excitement over the applause. His game plan going in was to find Kate's face in the crowd and use the familiarity of it to relax and allow himself to dance like he had during rehearsals. He knew exactly where she was and he zeroed in on her, giving her a knowing smile as his hands moved to pull his bow tie off. The tie slid easily from its place inside his collar and he held it up as he gyrated his hips, moving them to beat of the music. Winking into the audience at no one in particular, he swung the tie over his head before tossing it in Kate's direction.

Tom realized he missed the moment there was a small riot of girls scrambling towards one common goal. He played it off like he'd done it on purpose, continuing his act by taking off the tuxedo jacket, choosing to toss it behind himself before unbuttoning the white tuxedo shirt. He'd practiced the buttons, tiny as they were, watching the audience, but found, once he was actually on stage, the buttons were less cooperative and he fumbled with them longer than he's anticipated. Dancing on, he finally felt a surge of confidence and his eyes trailed from his own legs across the remainder of the stage to the audience, where he caught the eyes of a woman, not Kate. She was leaning her head on her companion's shoulder, a man of similar age who was more into the performance than she was. Tom couldn't help but smile when she returned his gaze, the ends of her perfectly bowed lips turning up, her eyes sweeping over his body from head to toe.

Instead of finishing with the buttons, Tom grasped the shirt and pulled it apart, tiny buttons flying everywhere, their clattering against the floor lost in the claps and gasps of the audience. He saw Vanessa from the corner of his eye shaking her head and scowling, but he continued. His eyes were fixated on the woman in the audience, still- his performance just for her.

Evie was rapt. After getting over her initial misgivings about her companions' idea of what would be fun, she'd resigned herself to enjoy herself as much as she could. For the first dancer, she cheered, but soon found herself bored, lost in thoughts that didn't belong. During the second dancer's act, she sipped her drink, asked for another as the waiter passed by, leaned her dizzy head against Nick's shoulder and finished yet another drink. 

By the third man's dance, she was feeling better, numb, but better. This third performance seemed different to her, but she wasn't sure why and attributed it to the alcohol she'd imbibed. She watched him, the way he moved, her own mind wandering to the lithe muscles that bulged just under the tight tuxedo shirt he struggled with. He was tall, lean, muscled, but not overly so, athletic, she could tell. He had short, reddish hair, darker, matching the well-tended scruff on his face. His fingers, fiddling with the buttons were nimble enough and she couldn't help but wonder what they would feel like intimately. It was during this thought that his eyes caught hers and she blushed. 

She tried to tell herself that it was all part of his performance, that the men at the club most likely picked out one woman in the audience to flirt with, in hopes of larger tips, but even she didn't believe it. There was something in the gentle eyes he held on her that told her otherwise and sent a shock to her heart and made her sit up, lifting her head from Nick's shoulder and lean towards the stage. The man dancing there danced for only her. The other people in the club, the music, the lights, all melted away. 

As soon as his performance was over, he took a bow, flashed her one more toothy grin, and turned tail, ducking behind the velvet curtains as the woman at the mic began to announce another man. 

Noticing the reaction of her friend, Amelia leaned across the table. "You liked him, didn't you?" she smiled. She didn't wait for an answer- Evie's flushed face said it all. "Good. I bought you a lap dance."

Evie began to protest, but she knew it would do no good. Amelia would do what Amelia would do. Instead, she smirked and quietly said, "Thanks."

As soon as Tom was off stage, he leaned back against the wall. His heart was beating furiously, so hard he was afraid it would fly out of his chest. He clutched his hands over his chest and breathed, trying to will it down. The hard part is over, now, he tried to tell himself, not sure if he felt weak from the performance or from her. It was all more exhilarating than he'd ever imagined. 

Moving the curtains open slightly from where he stood, Tom could see her, just past the dancer who was on stage. She seemed less enthusiastic over this one, a man named Tony, whose routine involved Scarface. The "Say 'hello' to my little friend," routine usually killed the audience. 

"You did good, kid," Frank said as he came up behind Tom. "Though, I saw you stumble one or two times and Vanessa is not happy at all about those buttons."

Tom turned his attention backwards looking at Frank over his shoulder. "They didn't want to open," he excused. "I guess that'll be coming out of my paycheck?"

Frank shook his head. "Probably not," he shrugged. "Judging by the audience response, the worst you'll get is a sewing kit handed to you and a new, permanent part of your routine."

"I should probably get dressed," Tom shivered as he looked down at his nearly nude body. The temperature in the club was set fairly warm, but the lights made the stage area incredibly hot. Once a dancer was back stage, they might as well have stepped into a refrigerator. He turned and began walking towards the dressing room.

"Not so fast," Frank said as he grabbed Tom's arm. "Now that you've survived the gauntlet, you've got some private performances to do."

Tom sighed. The private performances were the part of his job description he didn't look forward to. Luckily, there was a three foot law in effect, which meant no lap dances, but he didn't relish the up close and personal nature of them. He ducked into the dressing room and checked himself in the mirror. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his curls were drenched. He grabbed a towel from one of the fold-up chairs next to him and dried himself off. There was no special uniform requirement for the private performances, so he settled on a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, before heading into the VIP rooms.

As Tom passed the table where the woman and her friends were sitting, he inhaled, catching the sweet scent of her perfume. He fought the urge to bury his face in her hair, to drop to his knees for her. Instead, he hesitated for just a moment, just long enough to catch the smell of her before continuing to the VIP room.

Once the third performance was done, Evie was shaken. She'd seen something, some glimpse in the dancer's eyes that made him seem like a kindred spirit and she wasn't sure she liked it. He made her shiver, without even knowing her, without touching her. And, even as she sat and listened to her friends' gossip over the music that was playing, she felt like he was watching her, perhaps even standing behind her. "Can we go, please?" she asked Amelia. "I've had too much to drink, I think." She held her hand on her forehead for extra effect.

Amelia scowled. "No," she answered, "You are going to enjoy tonight if it kills me." She reached into her pocket and pulled a wad of cash out, then picked up Evie's hand from the table and shoved the money into it.

"What's this for?" Evie looked cynically at her friend. "What do you have up your sleeve?"

"Just for you," Amelia announced smugly, "I have arranged a private performance." She grinned as Cory and Nick applauded.

Evie was about to protest when Nick stood up, pulling her with him. "Sorry, Doll," he smirked, "Amelia's right. You haven't enjoyed anything tonight except that alcohol in your glass. Now, I know heartbreak, and this isn't it." She raised her eyebrow at him as if to ask why he thought that, and he continued. "Chasshole," a name the men had coined some time during the evening when referring to her ex-fiancee, "Was a complete loser. I know it, you know it, we know it. You didn't love him, you loved the idea of him."

"Did I?" she inquired meekly. 

Nick nodded as he shoved her towards the doors to the VIP room. "Now, go, enjoy yourself."

She was beyond arguing. Resigned to the idea of the private performance, Evie pushed through the double swinging doors and gave the man on the inside her name, mumbling it reluctantly. He still understood her and directed her down the hallway to the third door on the right. She shuffled her feet and put off the inevitable as long as possible, girding herself for what she thought would be an embarrassing story she'd have to tell her friends later. 

As Evie slowly pushed the door open, she saw a soft light, sulfuric mixed with the flicker of candle light. She held her breath as she opened it all the way, losing it when she saw him standing in the center of the room, his hand rested on a chair, long legs clad in tight jeans and crossed at the ankle. He wasn't looking when she entered, but, almost as though he sensed her, his eyes trailed from the far corner of the floor to her feet and then swept up her body and when his eyes caught hers, he smiled. "It's you."


	5. Chapter 5

Tom's heart stopped. "It's you," he repeated, as though entirely unsure that this woman standing in the doorway of his room bathed in the phosphorous light wasn't just a figment of his imagination, conjured by the excitement of his first performance. 

She blushed. "I've never done this before," she whispered, giddy, slurred with drink. Evie stalled, holding the doorframe for balance, feeling as though the entire room were on water and keeling starboard. She blinked at him, her face blank as she waited for whatever was supposed to happen between them.  
"Let me help you," he replied, approaching her with caution. His hand caught her elbow and he caught her effortlessly as she fell towards him, her ship rocked. "Had a bit to drink tonight?"

Evie smiled. Her eyes caught his and her breath stalled. "A bit," she admitted. "But warranted."

Tom escorted her to the chair he'd leaned on and helped her sit. He couldn't help feeling like a giant as he stood above her. Dropping to his knees in front of her, he asked, "How so?"

She grimaced. "You don't want to hear my sob story," she answered, her voice cooling. "I understand my friends paid for a lap dance." Evie watched him expectantly.

Tom chuckled. "It's less of a lap dance and more of a private performance," he shrugged. "There's a three foot rule." When she raised her eyebrows in question, he explained, "I'm not allowed to get within three feet of you. It's illegal, otherwise."

"So this," she gestured at his hands rested on her knees, "Is illegal then?" She grinned as she leaned closer to him.

He blushed and pulled his hands back with the same speed he'd have done if she'd burned him. "Yeah, it is," he breathed as he stood up. "I'm sorry." He seemed momentarily shaken and gave a glimpse of the uneasy boy he'd been- the one that was hidden behind the unabashed British agent who'd shaken his goods on the stage.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, you know," she said softly. "We could just talk."

Tom shook his head. "I've got to give you what you've paid for." He pressed a button on the wall and some music started. Instead of the overbearing techno tunes that he danced to on stage, the mellow music of Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" wafted through the room. He turned to Evie with a grin on his face. "I know, cheesy, right?"

"I like it better," she replied. "It seems more... Intimate." She watched as he began swaying to the music, his hips moving in small semi-circles that instantly created indecent thoughts on her mind. She licked her lips, hoping he didn't see her. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, giving her an up close and personal view of his chiseled chest and muscular abs. Evie watched in rapt attention, so enthralled with his movements that she didn't notice he'd come closer and wrapped his shirt around her shoulders and harnessed her with it until she felt the fabric shift. 

Evie sighed as his scent emanated from it, her eyes distracted from him for just a moment as she closed them and inhaled. "This isn't three feet, is it?" she chided. 

"It is, actually," Tom responded as he let go, the shirt sleeves sliding from his hands and landing on the floor by her feet. "Now, Darling, you can't tell your friends about this if you don't watch."

Her eyes snapped open, sweeping over his body as he undid the fly on his jeans. "I hope you're not commando," she joked. Something in the way he spoke to her made her insides turn to the consistency of marshmallow.

Tom looked at her, hesitating for a moment before giving her another goofy grin. "Not allowed," he returned. His fingers deftly unbuttoned and unzipped the denim before he slid his thumbs into his belt loops and slid the jeans over his hips to the beat of the music. He watched her for a reaction and bit his lower lip, letting it pop out as she opened her mouth and formed an O. His confidence emerging, once again, he let the jeans fall to the floor, revealing the tight briefs he wore- red and leaving very little to the imagination. "I take it you like what you see?" he hissed, gyrating as he kicked the denim out of his way. Each movement led to a bounce that drew Evie's attention to his crotch.

"You're very, um," she hesitated, "Well -endowed, aren't you?" Try as she might, she couldn't take her eyes from him. He was mesmerizing. The perfect male specimen. And she couldn't touch him. 

He chuckled before continuing his routine. It was the same as he'd done on stage, modified only enough to be contained in the small space of the room. "I've been told so," he joked, "But never by someone as beautiful as you."  
Evie smiled, the first time she'd smiled genuinely that night, she thought, her eyes getting lost in his as their gazes locked. As quickly as the smile emerged, it was replaced by a frown as the realization that he was paid to entertain her, paid to flirt, hit her. Her heart felt heavy as every negative feeling from Chas came crashing back. An inner voice told her she wasn't any good, that the only thing that would draw men to her was her money. Tears welled in her eyes as the numbing effect of the alcohol she'd imbibed began to wane. "I'm sorry," she choked as she stood up, nearly knocking the chair over. "You put on a wonderful performance, but I've got to go."

Bewildered, Tom stood still, his dance abruptly stopped as she fled from the room. He wanted to chase her. Every bone, every muscle wanted to embrace her, to fix whatever it was that made her leave in tears, but he fought the compulsion, his own ego bruised, his own voices telling him he'd never be good enough for a woman like her. Dejected, he turned the music off and sat down, leaning so far back in the chair that, had he not balanced perfectly, he'd fall over.

Evie was embarrassed and fully in tears as she emerged from the VIP area. She bypassed her friends at the table and ignored their questions, their voices following her through the main part of the club until they were drowned out by the slamming door of the ladies' room. There was no one else in the restroom- something she was thankful for as she chose the stall furthest from the door, sat down on the floor with her back against the door and her knees to her chest, and let everything out, her sobs echoing against the tiles.

It was only a matter of seconds before the door opened and footsteps came to a stop at the stall Evie was in. "Eves," Amelia's voice carried through the room, "What happened?" She was tender, despite her directness. "Did he try to do something you weren't comfortable with? Did he force you to do something?"  
"It's not like that," Evie cried. "Not at all."

"Come out and tell me what happened, then." Amelia's direction was more of a request, her voice dripping with sympathy. "And open the door."

Evie acquiesced, sliding her back up against the metal of the stall door as slowly as she could before unlocking it and opening it to face Amelia. Her face was red, her eyes were red, her hair was mussed from shoving it haphazardly out of the way. She was a mess. "I came to the realization that men will only ever want me for my money," she sighed, resigned already to the idea. 

Amelia scowled and grabbed her arm, pulling her from the stall. "That's not true." She shoved Evie towards the mirror over the sinks and held her there. "Evangelina Marie," she said, her voice taking on a command Evie's never heard before, "You are gorgeous, you are smart, you are funny, you are the whole, entire package. Any man would be lucky to have you."

"You're my friend, you're supposed to say that," Evie protested, her voice wry.

"Damn Chasshole," Amelia spat. "Damn him and all the other guys that made you think that." She turned Evie around and held her face. "I'm not just saying it because I'm your friend, you know," she said, her voice softer. "Hell, I'll tell you if you look fat in an outfit." She smiled as Evie's tough facade cracked. "And you have a better smile than I'll ever have."

Evie let out a sympathy giggle, but then her face fell back to a pout. "You have a great smile," she responded. "And it's even better, now." She embraced her friend, lying her head on Amelia's shoulder. "Thank you for this."

Amelia chuckled. "Yeah, just remember this the next time I'm crying over a guy."

The two of them returned to the table. Cory and Nick were engaged in an animated discussion with one of the bartenders and barely noticed they'd returned, or were smart enough not to ask questions about what happened. Evie sat next to Amelia, her seat next to Nick now occupied by Cory as he held Nick's arm and leered at the bartender. "Is that how you get undressed so quickly on stage?" They heard Nick ask, before erupting into a gale of laughter.

The bartender took that as his cue to leave, sashaying back to his place behind the bar, making sure the men got a good eyeful of his ass. "That is nice," Cory quipped. Seeing Nick's flinch, added, "Not as nice as yours, though."

"Thank you," Nick smiled.

Amelia shook her head. "Shall we move this party along?" she asked as they kissed.

"Rude!" Cory scowled playfully. "What did you have in mind, Sweet Cheeks?"

She sighed. "If only you weren't gay." She shook her head. "I was thinking we could go to that new bar down the street- the one with the palm trees?"

"Sounds good," Nick answered. He stood up and Cory followed, both of them extending their hands to the ladies like proper gentlemen. "Ladies, shall we?"

Evie and Amelia grasped their hands and stood up. "Let's please," Amelia smiled. They followed the men through the maze of tables and out the door.

Tom watched them leave through the cracked door of the VIP area. His heart fell when he saw her go without so much as a glance back in his direction. "That's the breaks, Kid," Frank said from behind him.

"What?" Tom acted as though he wasn't heartbroken. "I don't know what you mean."

Frank chuckled. "You can't go falling for every gorgeous woman that comes in this joint," he said. "You know that." He gestured towards the main door. "Take that one that just left. She smells of money and privilege. That's a world away from any of us. Hell, even if you did get a chance to be with her, she'd as soon drop you when a man of a higher caliber came along."

"Not true," Tom growled, letting the door close and shutting them into the silence of the VIP area once again. "She's different, I can tell."

Frank smiled at him with sympathy. "You keep telling yourself that and you're gonna get your heart broke."

Tom shrugged. "It's my heart to break." He looked past Frank, his eyes staring at nothing in particular, except for maybe his own dream world. "And I'm tough. I can take it."

"You're better off with these gals down here," Frank replied, referring to the women who worked the dive bars along the main drag. "Keep with your kind. There's a reason we're only slightly better than the dregs from whence we came."

With a determined narrowing of his eyes, Tom's attention returned to Frank. "Do you know where they went? Where they were planning on going?"

Frank shook his head. "Damon probably did," he answered, "He was chatting up those men she was with."

Silently, Tom pushed his way back through the door, leaving Frank alone. He stomped towards the bar with determination. "Damon, did you hear where they went?" he asked, not caring that he was interrupting a conversation.

Damon didn't look at him. "Who?"

"Those guys you were talking to at table 3." Tom was getting impatient and slammed his fist down on the top of the bar.

"The Palmera," Damon answered.


	6. Chapter 6

Evie woke with a start, her bubble of sleep popped by the immediate urge to vomit. She rolled out of bed and ran, forgetting in her haze she wasn't at home, that she'd swapped residences with Cory and Nick. In a panic, she forgot which room was the bathroom and tried to stifle herself as much as possible, even as the bitterness flooded her mouth. Finally, she found it and a wave of relief washed over her as she knelt by the porcelain bowl and purged the entire contents of her stomach into it. She was so concentrated on the action at hand that she failed to hear the soft footfalls behind her and froze as soon as a pair of hands reached down to gather her long, loose hair into a twist behind her neck. "Here, Darling," an accented, velvet voice whispered, "You don't want your hair getting in there."

Between the emesis at hand and the fact that her body felt as limp and useless as cold spaghetti, she had no choice but to allow the stranger to help her. Her body tensed with each spasm until her stomach was empty and the dry heaves subsided. Clammy and exhausted, she reached for the handle to flush, then collapsed against the seat as the cold rush of air came up from the toilet's refreshed water supply. "Who are you?" she groaned. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that the thanks I get?" he asked, half joking. "Here I make sure you get safely home, entertain you for the night, hold your hair while you vomit and you don't even remember my name?" Chuckling, he grabbed a towel from the bar on the wall beside her, wrapped it around his waist, and knelt down next to her, waiting for her to open her eyes.

Blearily, she let her eyes open to slits, flinching at the brightness of the incandescent lights around the mirror. As her vision focused, she could make out the features of his face. He was handsome- she gave credit to her drunk self for at least picking a winner- his face angular, with sharp cheekbones that were only more accented by the unshaven scruff that textured his jawline. His hair was cropped short, but wavy, curling in errant tendrils around his face, ears, neck in locks of dark ginger. It was his eyes that caught her attention, mostly. They were blue, the color of blue she colored water with crayons when she was younger, and they sparkled with life, joy, interest. "Johnathan," she finally replied softly, "Right?"

He shrugged and smiled, flashing her a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. "Well, yes and no," he answered. When she scowled at him, he laughed and explained, "That's my stage name. Vanessa thought it sounded more dashing and double-agent than my given name."

"Which is?" she inquired, too impatient to wait for him to tell her.

"Tom Hiddleston," he smirked. "Really, it is a bit ridiculous."

Evie shook her head. "Not at all," she said. The action sent a bolt of pain through her head and she scrunched her eyes shut, groaning as she rested her head back on her arm. "Oh, God," she moaned, "You're the male stripper, aren't you?"

"We prefer the term 'Adult Entertainer,'" he laughed, his cadence echoing off the tiles in the tiny room. "Sorry," he apologized when he saw her cringe at the noise. "Yes, you met me at Carla's."

She pinched her arm in the hopes that she was dreaming- in her world of the upper-echelon, well-behaved, things like this didn't happen. Or, at least, if they did they were swept under the rug so quickly nobody else knew about them. "Oh, God," she groaned, "Did we...?"

He chuckled again, stifling himself so he wouldn't give her a worse headache. "Yes," he answered, "If you're asking if we slept together, yes, we did."

A quick peek up at his smile and a regret-filled groan later, she took a deep breath and forced herself to open her eyes, to study him. "Why are you still here?" she asked, her voice cynical. "Aren't guys like you supposed to be gone in the morning with a note saying you'll call me later on the nightstand?"

She moved to stand up, but fell back against the wall, legs as wobbly as a newborn fawn. He reached out to her and caught her by the elbows, then pulled her to him. "Let me help you," he said. "And, no, I'm not one of those guys."

"But you work at a strip club," she argued, trying in a desperate attempt to convince herself that she wasn't really attracted to him and that perhaps her foray into the world of one-night stands was really not so much a mistake. "I'll bet you have women falling all over themselves for you on a nightly basis. I'll bet some of them are even beautiful, better than me." She shrugged.

Tom stared down at her, his attention caught by the way she was defending herself, the hurt and betrayal from some other world completely evident in her eyes. "I do," he admitted, "But last night was my first time on stage and I've never seen a woman as beautiful as you."

Evie guffawed, doubting his sincerity. She returned his gaze, searching his eyes for some hint that he was lying, any spark she could find there that would tell her he was only putting on an act for her benefit, but she couldn't. "You took advantage of me being drunk," she finally huffed, hoping at least that accusation would be true.

He shook his head. "That, I'm afraid, was mutual," he replied. "Let's sit down and I'll tell you what happened."

She couldn't argue with sitting down. Her legs were mush, the rest of her body completely exhausted. She was sure she looked a mess, but she didn't care. "I think I need a drink of water," she sighed, tasting the sour of her hangover in her mouth. "Maybe even some mouth wash."

After he's escorted her to the sofa in the living room, he returned to the bathroom. Evie could hear him rummaging around the cabinet for mouthwash and then heard him move to the kitchen. By the time he returned, he had a bottle of Listerine in one hand and a bottle of Evian in the other. "I see you stock only the best," he commented as he handed it to her. 

It sounded like a biting commentary on her high-society standing and she groused, "It's not my place," in defense. Her voice was sharp and she tempered it with further explanation. "My friends Cory and Nick own it," she said more softly, "I traded places with them for a couple weeks. Just so I can get back on my feet."

Tom took a rough estimate of her person. She looked high-society, like one of the women he'd expect to see sitting at one of the beach side resorts in a designer bikini, carefully tending a tan while sipping some exotic drink. He knew she didn't owe him anything, but he felt the need to ask. "Get back on your feet from what?"

She looked incredulous as he sat down in a club chair opposite her. The nerve, she thought, I shouldn't even allow him to pry into my personal life. Common sense seemed to temper her reaction. Instead of letting him get the upper hand, she changed the subject. "You were going to tell me what happened last night."

With a deep sigh, Tom thought about how he wanted to phrase everything. Finally, he began with his actions after she'd left. "After you left Carla's, I still had to finish my shift." He hesitated for a moment, his eyes never leaving her. "Damon," he continued, "The bartender who was chatting up your friends, overheard where your party was moving along to and told me when I asked him. My last dance was an hour or so later and I left as soon as I could."

"I didn't think we'd stayed at that club as long," she interrupted. 

"You didn't," he replied. "But, working in a club along the strip as I do, you get to know people. All I had to do was describe you and I was directed to you. Of course, all of these directions came with a free drink, since I was off the clock." He smiled sheepishly, as though the thought of getting drinks was more embarrassing than working in adult entertainment. "I found you three clubs later. You were pretty sloshed by then, but dancing with some jerk."

She closed her eyes and leaned against the back of the sofa. "I don't remember any of that," she groaned.

"Ehehehe," he laughed, "I wouldn't expect you to." Tom adjusted himself on his seat. "The guy was going for some serious touchy-feely and, while you were doing your best to thwart that idea, he was not taking the hint. As much as I don't you to feel like you were the damsel in distress and I your knight in shining armor, I felt an intervention was warranted."

"What did you do?" she asked, returning her attention to him.

"What any gentleman would do," he answered. "I decked him." 

"Did you knock him out?" She was now enthralled that any man, much less someone who was a complete stranger would go to the lengths he did to protect her honor. 

Tom grinned. "Out like a light," he replied. "Anyhow, you offered to buy me a drink or three, which I, of course took you up on. Your friends thought it was great that you took to me and didn't stop either of us from making total arses of ourselves in public with a bit too much PDA."

"That sounds like Amelia," she snorted. "Cory and Nick would have been encouraging it, too."

"Yeah, they did." He looked down at the floor for a moment, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, sitting so that, were she to bend down just a little more, she'd get an eyeful of what was hiding under his towel. "They dropped us off here and I swear I intended to sleep on the sofa or the floor or something..." His voice trailed off.

Evie smiled for the first time that morning. In her mind, she had vignettes of the early morning as they flashed back to her- the kissing in the doorway after the friends left, the giggles, the sitting on the sofa singing silly songs, the bottle of wine found in the refrigerator and was swigged upon until it was gone, the fumbling over and under clothing, the stumbling half naked to the bedroom. "Do you remember anything after the wine?" she asked.

Tom nodded. "It's a bit hazy, but I do, yeah. You?"

"It's coming back to me," she sighed. What she didn't want to tell him was that she enjoyed the way he touched her, that Chas was never as tender or as attentive to her needs, nor as well-endowed. She settled on, "I know I enjoyed it."

"So did I," he blushed. 

The two of them sat in awkward silence, unable to do much other than glance occasionally in the others' direction, otherwise their eyes distracted by a tapping foot, a drumming finger, anything to not talk about what they'd done.

Tom finally broke the silence. "I feel really silly," he said, "But I don;t even know what your name is."

"Evangeline," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I know, a bit over the top. My friends call me Evie." 

He pursed his lips. "Well, Evie," he finally said, "I think you are gorgeous, sexy and thrilling and I would love to take you out, if you'll have me." He waited for her to nod before asking, "Would tonight work? I have it off."

"Tonight is good," she answered. Inside, she felt like she would explode. 

"Great!" he exclaimed as he sat up and clapped his hands on his knees. "I should probably get dressed and get home to get cleaned up." He stood up and left the room only to return a few minutes later clad in a tight white t-shirt, red board shorts and black flip-flops. 

"I'll be by to get you at five, okay?" he said softly as he kissed the top of her head.

"Five's good," she replied, stunned at the turn of events her life had suddenly taken. As he left the apartment, her head was achy and racing. She found the mostly-empty bottle of wine and took the last swig off it, hoping it would take the edge off just enough, before curling up in a corner of the sofa, pulling a knit afghan from the back and wrapping herself with it, and falling back to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

"I've fucked up," Evie groaned as she spoke with Amelia on the phone, "Big time."

Amelia sighed. "You didn't, " she tried to reassure her friend. "It was one night of drunken bliss with a major hottie, who works as a male stripper, no less. I should be giving you major kudos. I never thought you had it in you."

Evie shut her eyes as she wandered into the bright sunlight on the balcony. "I told him I'd see him tonight." Admitting it to Amelia was like admitting it to herself. She was still suspended in a certain disbelief.

"You what?" She sounded like she nearly choked on whatever it was she was drinking. "How can you do that? You have to tell him no. You're in no condition to go out with a man like that," Amelia sputtered.

There was a car alarm that went off down the block that distracted Evie for a moment. "I don't have his phone number," She was lost in hazy thought when she replied, "I can't get hold of him."

"Well, I can at least come over and help you get ready," Amelia sighed. "I can be the supportive friend. Hell, I'm probably halfway to blame for this hookup." 

Evie could tell she was already halfway out the door. "Thank you, but no," she groaned, her head beginning to throb again. "I think I'm going to take a nap and hopefully get rid of this headache and worry about the whole date thing later." 

"You sure?" Amelia asked, suspicious that Evie wasn't giving her the whole story. "Because I can come over later, too."

"Goodbye, Meelie," Evie said before she hung up. She felt bad not letting her best friend come to help, but, for the moment, had other things on her mind. Chas, for one. Even though they were no longer together, she couldn't help but feel rotten for having slept with someone right after. Of course, not that even being in a relationship, or being engaged to her had stopped him at all. She was an emotional wreck- her feelings running the gamut between regret and tears all the way to rage. 

And then there was Tom. By all definitions, he was the perfect male specimen- he was handsome, kind, talented (from what she could remember), but, and it was a big but, he worked as a stripper. I'd love to see my mother's reaction to that, she thought. Despite all his plusses, he was exactly the kind of man she'd been conditioned to stay away from her entire life and, perhaps, that was exactly why she was drawn to him. Tom represented a rebellion, her rebellion, against the social norms she'd been taught to accept. In her mother's eyes, it was bad enough that she associated with Cory and Nick after they came out and moved in together, but even they were from the upper crust, so she couldn't fault them too far. No, Evie decided, Tom was just what she needed.

After her nap, she felt incredibly refreshed. The breezes floated through the open windows, coming off the Atlantic with the distinct smell of saltwater. She lazed in bed, her eyes taking in the entirety of the room. Cory and Nick had nice, refined tastes. This room, their guest room, which was normally reserved for visiting parents and occasionally Nick's sister, Bailey, was decorated with soft blues and beige, a reflection of the ocean, itself. It was calming, a sanctuary. Of course, it looked like a showroom, as the entire department did, because they'd brought in one of South Beach's most prestigious decorators to create their sanctuary. And she'd done one hell of a job. Their whole residence was the epitome of them and, because of that, Evie still felt them there with her, supporting her. Of course, they were probably enjoying her own townhouse just as much.

Her lazy afternoon got hectic with the knock on the door. Evie turned her head to glance at the digital clock on the night stand. 4:45. Shit! she thought as she leaped out of bed. "I'll be there in a moment," she yelled, hoping Tom, if that's who it was, could hear her. She grabbed the pink silk robe she'd draped over the end of the bed and wrapped it around herself, securing the ties while she walked to the door. Cory had warned her to always use the peephole in the door before answering because they'd had problems in the past with a burgeoning population of druggies looking to score, and she took that advice to heart. As she looked through the tiny glass, all she could see was a white button-up shirt. A lot of good that does, she grumbled to herself. "Tom?" she asked through the door as she fumbled with the lock.

When the door opened, her eyes followed the shirt up, expecting to see Tom's smiling face. Instead, they came to rest on a face she'd hoped to never see again. "Chas," she yelled, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He smirked at her, his expression every bit as condescending as before. "I guess you were expecting someone else?" he said. "Aren't you gonna invite me in?"

"No," she scowled. "How did you even find me here?"

Chas let out a self-satisfied chuckle. "You're not the only one with friends in South Beach, Babe," he answered. "A little birdie told me you were staying here and, at first, I didn't believe it, but when I came home to see those two little homosexual friends of yours staying at our condo, it solidified it."

She crossed her arms, feeling the weight of her scrunched eyebrows bringing back the ache her nap had tamed. "It's not your place, anymore," she grumbled. "Just go."

He reached out and cupped her elbows. "Evie, please," he beseeched, "I'm sorry." To an onlooker, he'd have seemed sincere, but she knew better. That was the voice Chas used when he wanted to sweet talk anyone into anything. It was not something she would fall for, now.

"She dumped your ass, too, didn't she?" she asked, referring to Selena. Evie hoped to God she was right. The bastard deserved it.

"You're the one that I want," he continued his ploy. "I see that now, she meant nothing to me."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom step out of the elevator at the end of the hallway. He was smiling until he spotted Chas. 

Tom approached with caution, his eyes keenly on the man standing in Evie's doorway. As soon as he saw the man there, he'd tucked the flowers he carried behind his back. There was something off, he knew as much, judging by the defensive way she was holding herself. Clearly, she disliked the man and wanted him to leave, but Tom could also tell that the man was using every trick he had not to leave. He could see her smile of relief as he sidled up to the man. "Hello, Evie," he said, his voice calm. "I can see you're not quite ready for our date. Shall I come back later?"

Her eyes widened. "No, please, come in, Tom. I'll only be a few minutes and Chas was just leaving." She shot a hateful look to the other man.

Chas wasn't about to be dismissed. An evil sneer crossed his face. "Oh, so you have a date with my fiance?" he asked.

The tension in the doorway became palpable. Her voice strained, Evie huffed, "Ex-fiance."

Tom smiled, turning on his charm. It was a technique he'd used countless times with his dealings in the underbelly, he had no doubt it would work on whoever this man was. "Yes, in fact, I do." He was smug, punctuating his answer with a self-satisfied smirk, lifting his chin ever so slightly. "In fact, we were out last night as well and thoroughly enjoyed each others' company." He shot a slight wink in Evie's direction.

"Well," Chas took a deep breath, ignoring or perhaps not noticing the wink, "I'm here to take her home. She doesn't belong here. She belongs with me."

Evie glared at him. "I don't belong with you or to you," she growled as she reached out to grab Tom's elbow. Turning her attention to Tom, she smiled sweetly. "Come in, Tom."

Chas intercepted her, his big hand closing tightly around her forearm. He yanked her roughly, making her lose her footing and crash into him enough so that he could wrap his arms around her. "You're coming with me, now," he boomed. "Your mother is worried sick about you, I've been worried sick about you."

She squirmed to get free, stomping her bare foot on his shoe in her struggle. "Let me go!" she screeched. Her foot did little damage, so she kneed him in the groin.

With a pained grunt, Chas loosened his grip on her and began to double over. "You bitch," he seethed.

He gave Evie just enough wiggle room to free her and, as she escaped, she fled into the apartment. "Get out, Chas!" she screamed as she fished a sharp knife from the knife block on the counter and held it in front of her, ready to strike if he made the move to grab her again. "Just go!"

"The lady has spoken," Tom said as he edged himself between Evie and Chas. "I think you should leave." He held his free hand up, flat in front of him in deference. 

Chas' eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He looked like a bull getting ready to charge. "I'm not leaving without you," he spat at Evie. He stood up and began to advance on Tom, his demeanor threatening. His balled fist shot to the trajectory of Tom's face.

Tom, like an expert matador, deflected Chas, leaning to the left and responding with an uppercut punch to the jaw, knocking the larger man backwards, into the door frame with a thud that jarred the closest picture off the wall. "She said no," Tom warned. "You'd be advised to leave now."

Shaking his head, Chas recovered and moved in again, this time to be caught with buffeting blows to the side of his head while his own fist falls landed against Tom's rib cage. "She's mine," he groaned.

"I don't think so," Tom retorted. He continued to punch Chas, finishing with a sickening thud to the solar plexus, causing the big man to fall to the ground, bruised and bleeding. "You should go." He held the door open and motioned for Chas to leave.

Breathing heavily, Chas winced as he rose to his feet. "You haven't seen the last of me," he warned as he exited, his eye on Tom as he left. 

Evie was shaking. "Come back and I'll call the police," she replied, her voice wavering more than she wanted it to. Her gaze stayed steady, though, drilling into Chas with every ounce of hate she felt toward him.

He shrugged and shook his head as he left, muttering something neither Evie nor Tom could comprehend. Once Chas was safely in the elevator and the doors slid shut, Tom closed the apartment door and twisted the latch on the deadbolt. As he turned around, he saw Evie still standing where she'd been, but instead of the tough facade she'd faked while Chas was there, she had dropped the knife and was white as a ghost, shivering despite the balmy Florida evening. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft and understanding, as he approached her.

She collapsed into his arms as the dam burst and her tears began flooding, causing hot, salty pools on the blue linen shirt he wore. "I can't believe he did that," she blubbered, "That asshole!"

Tom guided her to the sofa and sat down with her, holding her the whole time. "I'll understand if you want to cancel on me tonight," he whispered, not sure of she heard him through her tears. "If you need the time to yourself, I'm alright with that."

Evie shook her head, using the sleeve of her robe to wipe the rest of the tears from her eyes and the mucus from her runny nose. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice weepy and scratchy. "You must think I'm a horrible mess." She sniffled and looked at him, her eyes rimmed with red, watching for some indication he wanted to leave. She intended on giving him an out if he did. "And I am," she finally sighed. "My personal life is a tragedy at the moment."

He gave her a small, empathetic smile. "We've all got our demons," he said.

"Mine just happens to be named Chas," she chuckled.

Shrugging, he only agreed with her. "Yeah, but where does that leave us?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."


	8. Chapter 8

Tom sat in his living room mulling things over. He'd recently been able to move from Overton to South Beach, his younger brother, Daniel, taking responsibility for the care of their mother and insisting on it. Tom had a sneaking suspicion that Daniel only wanted to keep safe in case any unsavory types came sniffing around, and it was a valid fear. Tom's only regret about the move was the health of their mother. She'd been diagnosed with lung cancer only a month before the move, her prognosis not good.

His studio apartment was small and situated over a Cuban market. In the morning, he could smell the yeasty scent of fresh bread they baked, in the evening, the savory smells of the sandwiches they sold, made with whatever was left of the bread. He enjoyed watching the lines of people wind around the block waiting for the sandwiches, knowing that the owners always saved one for him. It was a perk of being a tenant.

As he took stock of his situation, he couldn't help but feel down. Evie was seared into his brain as sure as a brand on his skin. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Her smile, her eyes, her voice and her laughter- all played in his head on an infinite loop, her scent lingered in his nostrils. And he was in no position to even consider love. Especially hers.

Compared to where Evie was staying, his place looked shabby. Sure, there was a fresh coat of paint on the walls and the floors had been refinished before he moved in, but his furniture was mismatched and secondhand. His bed was the brown tweed sofa, which pulled out into a lumpy mattress. His kitchen table a small, beat-up, wooden TV stand that also served as a catch-all next to the front door. The few clothes that he owned weren't in a closet, instead they were hung on cheap plastic hangers from a wire shelf he'd fixed on the wall next to the bathroom door to hold two stolen milk crates full of linens. He used another crate, full of magazines and covered with what used to be a cupboard door he'd found in an alley, as an ottoman and occasional coffee table. His dishes were cast-offs that he'd procured from well-meaning neighbors, often cracked, chipped or dented. The appliances in his apartment were as old as the building himself, well taken care of for their age, but still, worn.

He sighed, the thought niggling in the back of his mind that he was not now, nor would he ever be good enough for a woman of her caliber. But to his heart, none of that mattered. And he'd always been taught to follow his heart.

The evening before was a bust, that much he knew. They'd left everything up in the air. Even though they ended up getting something to eat at the diner down the street from Evie's, Tom could tell she was distracted. They'd finished their meal, he'd walked her home and departed with a hug and a peck on the cheek. 

It wasn't even the uncertainty that nagged him. He could deal with the fact that she'd obviously just gotten out of a bad relationship. What he didn't like was the feeling of inferiority he'd gotten from her ex. The man had looked down his nose at Tom, whether consciously or not, it was there.

There was a knock on his door as he sat, stewing. "Come in," he yelled. The benefit of living in a neighborhood like his was, though it was nowhere near the upper class residences that Evie was used to, everyone in his were generally long-time residences. They were close. They looked out for each other and when he moved in, they'd embraced him like one of their own. No one worried about security because everyone looked out for each other, not that there was much to steal, either.

The door opened to Frank's grinning face. "How was the date?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Tom shook his head and pursed his lips. "It was a bit of a bust," he answered. "We went out, but not before she was accosted by a possessive ex."

"Not good," Frank scowled as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the blue lopsided arm chair opposite Tom. "You've got to be careful of that. A woman like that might just use you as a transitional man." He tossed a bottle to Tom.

Tom caught the beer easily and popped the top open with a key from his pocket. He took a swig and then set it on the coffee table. "I know," he groaned. "I know. But the thing is, I can't get her out of my mind." He went on to explain about their tryst the night before, everything after he'd left Carla's in search of her.

"Better find something else to occupy your brain." Frank popped the top of his beer with the edge of the wooden chair arm and drained the entirety of his drink in a single swig. "You know I've been through that before."

"Yeah, I know." Frank had spent some long nights on his sorrows with Lynda. Much like Evie, he'd met Lynda at Carla's. The attraction was instant and they immediately were inseparable. Frank had even proposed. Lynda rejected him, admitting she'd only begun seeing him because she wanted to get back at her estranged husband. "Just because Lynda screwed you over doesn't mean Evie would do the same to me, though," Tom added.

Frank shook his head. "Just be careful," he warned. "That's all I ask." He got up and retrieved another beer, popped the top with the bottle opener Tom kept by the sink and held it up. "Salut," he smiled.

"Don't you work tonight?" Tom asked as he reciprocated with his own barely-gone drink.

"Uh, yup," Frank winked. "Vanessa's alright with a couple before. It helps calm the nerves."

"Nerves? You?" Tom scoffed. "I'd have never guessed." 

Frank finished off his second beer. "Sometimes, you just need some of that ol' liquid courage." He watched Tom drain his beer, his eye keenly on how delicately he held the bottle. "Y'know," he drawled, "Where I come from, you'd never get away with drinking like that. You gotta chug it, man."

Tom chuckled and tipped the remainder into his mouth. "You ready?" he asked as he set the bottle down.

"As I'll ever be," Frank answered.

They left the apartment and climbed into Frank's beat-up truck. "When you gonna get a car?" he asked Tom as he revved the engine.

"Eventually," Tom replied. "My mum's not doing well."

Frank nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is your brother taking care of her?"

"As much as he can." Tom sighed, his attention distracted by the scenery as it flew past his window. "Dan's got a full time job and he swears he can do it. I'm not so sure. She may have to go to hospice soon."

"Will you move him with you, then?"

"Maybe," Tom shrugged. "He might go to school."

Frank grunted as the traffic in front of him screeched to a halt. "What about you? Ever think about going back, yourself?"

"I've considered it. Mary wanted the two of us to come live with Aidan and her in Germany. We could go to University for free, then." He didn't want to talk about his future any more and hoped Frank would leave it at that. The present was what mattered. In his trials and tribulations, he wanted to count his blessings, not his losses. He was happy that Mary'd found Aidan and that they were blissfully in love and expecting their first baby. He was happy that his mother was fighting her disease, even if the doctors said her chances were grim, and that each day she fought was another day they got to have with her. He was happy he'd run into Frank and was no longer involved with the underworld, and that the underworld hadn't caught up with him. He was even happy he'd met Evie, despite the fact that he had no idea where things stood between them.

As Frank pulled into the back lot of Carla's, his truck kicking up dist from the dry gravel, he slapped a hand on Tom's knee to bring him back to the present. "Now, you make sure you do what's best for you," he said. "You hear?"

"Yes, Sir," Tom smiled. He opened the rusty door as soon as the truck stopped, hopping from the bench seat into the dirt. As he slammed the door shut, Kate opened the back door. "Hey, Kate," he waved.

She was glaring at him. "What the hell, Tom?" she yelled across the lot. "I'm hearing you chased after one of the women that was in the club the other night."

Shit, he thought, Everyone chases tail, but of course, I'm the one that got caught. "There's a perfectly reasonable explanation," he smiled. Striding across the parking lot, he reached Kate in a matter of seconds and leaned in to give her a greeting kiss on the cheek. "It won't happen again."

"There better be and it better not," she grumbled as she let him pass. Spying Frank following, she pointed her finger at him. "And you, you know better than to let him."

Frank shrugged. "I had nothing to do with it," he defended. "In fact, I tried to talk him out of it today." He repeated Tom's kiss and entered the club.

Kate let the door slam behind him, preferring to stay outside and have a cigarette before entering the building. As it swung shut, she yelled, "Vanessa's in a mood!"

Tom heard her and glanced back at Frank. "Great," he said, his voice flat.

"What was that?" Vanessa asked as she walked out of the dressing room.

Turning back towards her, he turned on the charm. "It's great to see you after a day off, Darling," he flirted.

She rolled her eyes. "Give me that charm while you're on stage and you're off the hook, Hiddleston," she responded. "But only this one time."

Tom laughed and went to put his things away in his locker. "Hey, Van, I am truly sorry," he apologized, "But I followed my heart. Surely you can't fault me for that."

"Let me know how that works out for you," she smirked. "If we all did that, none of us would be here."

He followed her out to the bar and began cleaning, prepping for the night's business. There was music playing on the sound system, classic rock that was far from the techno that played during the shows, and it was a soothing addition to his afternoon routine. He wondered who chose it, then decided that it was probably Vanessa's- the techno was almost always Kate's. When he got to wiping down the table and chairs where Evie had sat with her friends, he stopped. Even at work, especially at work, he couldn't chase her from him. 

The club door opened and Tom looked up from his silent reverie, half expecting Evie to step through it. It wasn't her. It was a woman who'd been in the club the same night, though. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were still closed," she said. "Is that cute cowboy here?"

Tom nodded. "Hey Riley," he yelled, making sure he used Frank's stage name in case the woman was a crazy, "You've got a visitor."

Frank popped his head out of the dressing room door, his pre-opening duty being to organize the costumes in order of performance. He spied the woman and grinned. "Hey, Jolene," he said. "Come on back." Catching Tom's inquisitive look, he shrugged. "I didn't chase her."


	9. Chapter 9

The entire idea of the swap of homes was to get away. Evie wanted to get away from her life, her feelings, her family, and, especially, Chas. She'd expected that she would be sunning herself on the beach, maybe meeting new people at one of the swanky new clubs along the strip while sipping a skinny girl martini. Instead, she felt like a prisoner, trapped in the apartment. 

Chas' visit made her afraid to go anywhere, to do anything. Each time she heard foot steps outside the doorway, she'd jump, half expecting his hulking form to burst through the door. She'd even gone so far as to hide the sharpest kitchen knives in strategic places around the house, just so she'd have easy access in case he accosted her, again.

During dinner with Tom, she vaguely remembered a suggestion of filing a restraining order against Chas, but she was too deep into her own thoughts to pay much mind to it. Later, when she'd had a chance to calm down, she'd called the police, but was told that since Chas had no record of posing a danger to her, they couldn't do anything. 

It was because of this that she sequestered herself, relegating her mini vacation to the confines of the apartment- the sun drenched balcony her only place to relax. She'd resigned herself to it, using her phone to stay in contact with the outside world. 

Amelia offered to stay with her, but Evie declined. Cory and Nick suggested they trade back, but she wanted to be at her own home even less. There, she knew Chas still had keys and she shuddered to think what he would do if he found out she was back. She advised them to see about getting the locks re-keyed while they were there, just in case.

By her fourth day in, Evie ran out of food, or at least anything that wasn't fitness shakes. There was no way around it, she knew she'd need to go to the grocery store. She showered, lingering in the steamy water as long as she could before getting out, drying off and getting dressed. Instead of her usual sundress or shorts and tank, she opted to borrow a pair of Nick's slacks, one of Cory's polo shirts, and gathered her hair into a bun before grabbing one of their baseball caps from the box in the hall closet and fitting it over her head. The ensemble looked silly with her flip flops, but she didn't care. No one would be looking at her feet, she figured, and the outfit would make her feel more invisible- invisible enough, she hoped, that Chas, if he were to see her, wouldn't recognize her.

Satisfaction with her incognito look wasn't enough, however. Instead of visiting the market around the corner, she hopped a bus to another neighborhood. The further away from the apartment she got, the more relieved she felt, until she spied him in the back of the bus. It wasn't Chas, but one of his friends, sent, she assumed, to keep an eye on her. He wasn't watching her at the moment and, in a split second of panic, she made the decision to leave the bus on the next stop. 

As the bus slowed, a crowd stood up, surrounding her. She saw him glance in her direction, but she watched only out of the sides of her eyes, careful not to give the indication she knew he was there. She stayed sitting until the last second, then blended in with the crowd and exited, checking over her shoulder to make sure he didn't follow. It was her hope that even if he got off the bus at the next stop after, she could escape into whatever neighborhood she was in and evade him. 

Evie followed the group as far as the end of the block, using them as camouflage while the bus passed, before attempting to get her bearings. As she stepped away, she looked around. The place was nowhere near as high class as the one Cory and Nick inhabited, but it had a certain charm. All of the store-fronts had signs in Spanish as well as English and most of them had some of their wares proudly displayed in racks on the sidewalk in front of their pastel-palletted stucco buildings. There was a cafe on the opposite side of the street that had little tables set up in front of it and a window to order carved into the wall. The smells that came from it were heavenly and she could imagine sipping a cold drink on a hot day while eating some delicious food. Perhaps with some handsome man. It looked romantic. In some other world, she thought. 

Next to the cafe was a small market, situated on the corner, advertising fresh fruits on a sandwich board out front. With a resigned sigh, she crossed the street. She wasn't sure how much variety of food they offered, but she figured she would rather chance a slim pick of foodstuffs versus taking a chance at catching another bus and having a run in with Chas' cronies. 

Once inside, she was relieved. The grocery was small, but jam-packed with delicious offerings and she was greeted by a small Cuban woman with a warm, inviting smile. She waved and smiled back as she grabbed a basket from near the door and began to peruse the shelves, picking out food without any particular game plan. Sure she would regret not planning her meals, she began to take stock of what she already had as well as what was available and plan a mental list. 

Evie was so embroiled in her shopping that she failed to notice the man entering the store. He slunk into the aisle opposite her, watching her in the security camera monitor that was mounted over the door. She moved closer to him, combing through the aisles and he stayed put, waiting for her. When she finally reached him, he blocked her. "What do you think you're doing, Eve?" he asked.

Startled, she jumped, nearly dropping her basket of food. "Hunter," she scowled, "Chas sent you to do his dirty work, didn't he?"

He shook his head. "Chas is heartbroken without you," he answered. "He's a mess. I came here hoping to convince you to come home."

"Did he tell you why I kicked him out?" 

Hunter's face turned red. "Selena. I know."

"How much did you know?" she asked, pointedly hitting him in the chest with a crusty baguette. "How long did you know?"

"The whole time." He seemed genuinely embarrassed by the fact. "I know, I should have told you, but would you have believed me?"

Evie held the bread up and hit him on the shoulder with it. "You asshole. Of course I'd have believed you. And you could have saved me months of heartache."

Hunter reached out to grab the loaf as she came in for another blow with it. "Come home," he said, "He's sorry."

"No!" she yelled as he dropped the bread and grabbed her wrist. 

"Let go of her!" a voice boomed from behind them. A voice that was distinctly Tom's. 

She rubbed her wrist and cradled it as soon as Hunter let go of her. "You must be the guy," Hunter sneered. "Yeah, Chas told me about you."

Tom reached Evie's side and wrapped his arm protectively around her waist. "Yeah, I'm that guy," he replied. "You should go. The owners here don't take kindly to strangers assaulting innocent women in their market." He took a deep breath and puffed his chest up, making himself seem even taller.

For a moment, Hunter considered sucker punching Tom. He thought better of it when he noticed the woman in the security camera hold up a shotgun and glare at him. "Just think about what I said," he sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. "Chas wants you back." He turned around and exited the store.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked Evie as he embraced her. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

She shook her head. "No," she answered. Her voice felt small. "What are you doing here?"

He chuckled. "I live upstairs." Leaning down, he picked up the broken baguette and put it in her basket. Taking the basket from her, he said, "Let's buy all this and go up to my place." When he noticed the alarmed look in her eyes, he continued, "You're in no shape for travel and neither Chas nor his friends know where I live. It'll be safe."

"Okay," she agreed, feeling impending tears well up.

Evie followed Tom to the register and helped unload the basket, paying the woman with cash as he picked up the bags. "Ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "I think so."

Tom led her out of the market and to the left to a set of stucco stairs conveniently hidden by a large bougainvillea. They climbed the steps and emerged onto a terrace. There were two doors and Tom went to the one on the right, set the bags of groceries down, pulled out his keys and unlocked it. "Welcome to my place," he said as he held the door for her. "I know it's not much. Definitely not as fancy as you're used to."

"It's wonderful," she smiled as she stepped past him. "Cozy, homey, warm."

He picked up the bags and kicked the door shut with his foot before setting them down on the small kitchen counter. "It's small and shabby," he groaned. "You don't have to be nice. I know it's nothing like you're used to." 

When he turned around to face her, she was standing in the middle of the room, her face drawn, her eyes turned down, her body shaking. He rushed to her and wrapped his arms around her just in time for her to collapse into him. "I can't do it," she cried, her voice muffled by his chest. "I just can't do it anymore."

"Shhh," he comforted as he guided her to the sofa and sat down, bringing her with him. "Can't do what, Darling?"

Evie looked up at him with her big, weepy eyes. "I never told you what happened, did I?"

He shook his head. "You didn't have to," he shrugged. "I got the gist of it. Chas cheated on you and you threw him out. That's all I need to know."

"Why are you so nice?" she wept. "Chas wanted me for my money. How are you any different?"

Tom looked hurt, but he tried to brush it aside. "Fuck money," he said softly. "All I care about is that you're happy."

She sniffled. "But, you barely know me," she whispered. "For all you know, I'm a horrible person. And I am." She held up a fist and brought it down with a soft thud against his chest. "I'm an awful person."

"You're not," he responded, his fingers reaching and catching an errant lock of hair that had fallen over her brow, sweeping it behind her ear. "You're not."

Her eyes pleaded with him, deafening in their silence. "I'm not the kind of woman who has one night stands with adult entertainers," she huffed. "I go to fancy dinner parties and do the foxtrot."

"You do the foxtrot?" he asked raising an eyebrow. 

Evie shook her head. "No, not really," she sighed. "It just sounded good." She couldn't stand how he was watching her, how his eyes followed every movement, every emotion, tender and not passing judgment. "I'm not good enough for you," she finally said, closing her eyes and leaning her head on the back of the sofa. "I'm a wreck. My life is in shambles, my mother told me to look past Chas' actions and marry him and I don't think I want to be that person."

"You're not that person," Tom said. He fought the urge to kiss her, right then and there. "And you can change your stars."

"Even if my life is falling apart?" she asked, opening her eyes and seeing his right in front of her.

He smiled. "Especially if yours is falling apart," he answered.


	10. Chapter 10

Tom watched her as she slept and covered her with a knit blanket when she began shivering. She'd cried, the whole time telling him about what happened between herself and Chas, until she was completely exhausted. He'd stood and taken the arm chair, letting her curl up on the sofa. She seemed so delicate, so fragile, he was nearly afraid to touch her for fear that she would shatter into a million pieces and be gone forever. 

She slept through what was left of the afternoon. When the sun had thoroughly heated everything up and the air was heavy, Tom wished he could join her, but he didn't want to scare her and there was nowhere else to sleep, so he sat quietly and contemplated until it was near the time he was scheduled to work.  
He didn't want to leave her alone, but he needed to work. "Evie," he whispered in her ear after he stood up and rubbed his legs, "I've got to get to the club."

Evie only smacked her lips in response, so he decided to leave her a note. In his large, scrawly handwriting, he wrote her name on the outside and propped it up on the makeshift table where she was sure to see it.

Before he left, he made a sandwich and ate it, chugging down a glass of water from the tap to wash it down after. Frank was due to pick him up and take him to the club any minute and Tom was afraid of waking Evie. His entire pre -work routine was sped up so he could intercept the man and keep him from knocking on the door.

Hearing the telltale rumbling of Frank's truck on the street below, Tom shot one more quick glance at Evie's sleeping form before leaving the apartment and closing the door as silently as he could. He was careful to lock the door and, as he turned around, came face to face with Frank as he bounded up the steps.   
"Well, this is different," Frank said as he approached. "I was hoping we could kick back a couple drinks before heading off."

Tom shook his head. "Not today," he replied. "I've got a guest asleep on the sofa."

Frank smiled knowingly. "Is it a woman?" he asked. He could tell he was right by the glint in Tom's eyes. "You dog," he chided, punching Tom gently in the arm. "Was it good?"

"It's not what you think," Tom answered. "She's in trouble and she's staying here for... I don't know." He didn't want to talk about it any more. A part of him thought that if he told anyone else she was there, she'd evaporate, proving only to be a figment of his imagination. The other part wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was there, even if she wasn't his. 

"Is this the chick from the other night?" Frank asked. Again, Tom's face was a dead giveaway. With a scowl, Frank groaned, "I really don't want to have to tell you, 'I told you so,' later. "

"You won't have to," Tom replied. He was silent as he followed Frank back to the truck, sullen as they drove to the club, despite Frank's friendly ribbing and attempts at conversation.

"What the hell is your problem?" Frank finally asked, annoyed. He parked the truck behind the club and held his hands on the wheel after shutting it off.   
Tom moved to get out, only to be blocked by Frank's log of an arm.

He squirmed, but it was no use. "Alright," he conceded, "I'm worried about her." Again, he tried to escape, but it was only after he shot a steely gaze at Frank that the man let him go. "I should have just called in sick," he groused as he got out of the truck, not letting his friend add anything else to the conversation.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Frank. The man was, in fact, someone who was infinitely useful in giving relevant advice. He was intelligent, knowledgeable, well-spoken, but in matters of the heart, he hadn't a clue. There had been so many women in and out of Frank's life, he might as well have been a revolving door. Tom usually didn't listen to anything Frank espoused about women and he wasn't about to start.

He sprinted away and was in the club before Frank had even locked his truck. For set up, he avoided him, choosing to take the jobs that were more solitary, just so he could keep his phone on himself. He'd written his number on the note, just in case, hoping she would at least call him should anything happen. As time moved closer to opening, the less worried he got. As he got his costume, he stowed his cell in his locker and hoped nothing would happen while he was on stage.

***  
Evie woke when the sun was just barely falling over the horizon. She could see glints of its oranges and purples reflected in the windows across the street and felt a peace that had been a long time coming. She didn't remember feeling it, but imagined she did as a child and it was nice. It was as if the whole world was made just for her.

She'd awakened alone, though smiled that Tom had found her a blanket and bundled her up. While most people would have been frightened waking in a strange place with no one around, Evie found it exhilarating. She felt like anything was possible. As she rolled, she spied a note on the table in front of her. Picking it up she read what he had written, a simple, "I didn't want to wake you when I left for work. Love, Tom." He'd written his phone number below his name. She found the fact that he'd thought enough to leave her a note and sign it "Love, Tom" immediately endearing and it made her smile.

Evie sat up, leaned over the arm of the sofa and grabbed her purse, fishing around in it for her cell phone as she hauled it onto her lap. She still had a little bit of a charge, so she programmed Tom's number in, his name in her contacts list as "Stripper Tom," as opposed to all the other Toms she knew- not that she knew any others. She contemplated calling him, just to tell him that she was awake and that everything was okay, but she thought better of it, preferring to save her battery power in case of an emergency. Besides, she didn't want to disturb him at work and make him worry over her.

Her stomach began to rumble as she sat curled on the sofa taking in her surroundings. She'd looked at Tom's apartment when she'd arrived, but she hadn't bothered scrutinizing it. As she got up to make herself something to eat, a task that was made more difficult only by the fact that his primary cooking method for anything was relegated to either a hot plate or an oversized, beat-up toaster oven, she scrutinized the apartment a bit more. She decided it was definitely him. Everything in it was beaten up, repurposed, recycled, but it was infinitely more comfortable and stronger than anything in her own home. She lived in constant fear of breaking something when she was home, whether it be from knocking into a side table with a designer vase balanced upon it or accidentally marking up her furniture. Evie realized her house wasn't a home, it was a museum, and it was as fragile as she was.

While she ate the sandwich she'd ultimately decided on, she perused more and found Tom's phone charger curled up and stowed in a basket on top of a book shelf in the corner. I'm sure he won't mind if I borrow it, she thought as she pulled it out. She found a wall socket, grabbed her phone from the table and plugged it in right as it began to ring. It was from a number she didn't recognize. "Hello?" she answered, her voice full of suspicion. 

"Evie, where the hell are you?" the voice on the other end asked. "Where are you?"

She froze. Her blood began to run cold and all the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. "Chas," she said breathlessly. "Leave me alone."

"You know I can't do that," he replied, "I love you. You're my girl."

"Not any more." She wanted to throw the phone against the wall, but she didn't. Instead, she slid down the wall and sat on the floor, as if making herself as compact as she could would allow herself to defend against the barrage of abuse she expected to spew from him at any time. "I'm not yours any more."

Chas growled. "If I can't have you, no one can," he threatened. "I will find you. You can't hide from me forever." He hung up, not giving her a chance to respond.

Evie was no longer frightened, but furious. She called Cory's cell phone and told him he and Nick needed to leave, that they were in danger, though she wasn't sure he believed her. She also asked him that, when he and Nick got home, to gather her belongings and take them to Carla's. When Cory asked why, she could only answer, "Chas."

Her next call was to the police. She wanted it on record that Chas threatened her, hoping it would help her case in getting a restraining order. They marked down the incident, but it still wasn't enough. 

Amelia was her next call. She told her what had happened with Chas, with Hunter, the phone call. "Oh, Meelie," she pleaded, "Tell me you'll stay away from him and stay safe."

"Evie, I will," Amelia answered. "Is there anything I can do?"

There was a list of things Evie requested. She asked that Amelia buy a disposable cell phone from the drug store and only give the number to Cory and Nick, as well as record it for herself, that she help Cory and Nick with getting her things from her townhouse and list it with a realtor. "I don't care if I ever see anything else of that place again," she said, knowing that she really didn't have much left there that she was attached to. It was her clothing, her jewelry, her personal possessions she was concerned about and that would fit neatly in her luggage set.

Lastly, she requested, "Can you please come get me?" When Amelia agreed, she gave her the address of the grocery downstairs, which was on the bottom of her receipt. "I'll meet you in two hours," she said before hanging up.

After her call with Amelia, she felt even more drained. She was numb, both emotionally and physically. I'm not going to let Chas break me, she repeated to herself. It became a mantra that she repeated as she moved about Tom's apartment and with each recitation, she could feel the delicate skin of the old Evangeline peeling away and revealing a tougher, thicker hide. She wasn't going to let him hurt her any more. She wouldn't let anyone hurt her anymore.

As time wore down, getting closer to her meeting with Amelia, she paced, gathering her thoughts, not letting any apprehension through. She considered calling Tom, letting him know what she was doing, but she didn't. He's probably on stage right now, she rationalized. Figuring there would be no answer, she let the consideration of it fly out of her mind. Tom was, after all, just a nice guy that helped her when she needed it, and as her strength and resolve began to increase, the less she felt she would need a hero. And that's exactly what she felt he was trying to be- a hero.

At the appointed time, she grabbed her purse, unplugged her cell phone and shoved it inside, and took one more look around Tom's place. The food she bought, she figured, he could have. Judging by what was left in his pantry, he needed it more than she did, anyway. At the last moment, she grabbed his note from the table and stowed that in her purse as well before opening the door, locking it, closing it back up, and making her way downstairs to wait for Amelia.


	11. Chapter 11

"How'd you get here?" asked Amelia as Evie got into the passenger seat of her car. "What happened to staying at Nick and Cory's place?"

Evie shook her head. "Long story," she answered solemnly. "The dummy version is that Chas figured out where I was and paid me a visit. I came here on the bus to get some shopping done because I figured it might throw him off, but he sent Hunter to follow me." She leaned her head on the window and closed her eyes. "Can you just take me to Carla's? I'm meeting the guys there with the rest of my stuff."

"Sure," Amelia replied. "Why Carla's? Does this have anything to do with that guy?"

"It's got everything to do with him, now," Evie groaned. "He keeps saving me and I can't keep letting him do that." 

Amelia shrugged. "Sounds like a good guy." She glanced over at Evie. "So, were you at his place?" 

Evie nodded. "Yeah, but he's gone to work." She sat up and looked at Amelia. "I wanted to leave while he was gone. Just to make it easier on both of us. He..." She stumbled over her words. "He shouldn't get attached to me."

"More like you don't want to get attached to him," Amelia said, her voice caustic. "If that's the case, then why meet at Carla's?"

"I wanted to thank him and say goodbye." There wasn't much more that she could say, to Tom or anyone else. She knew she owed none of them an explanation, least of all Tom. As much as she liked him, as handsome as he was, she tried her damnedest to see him just as a man she'd met that had helped her. It's best this way, she thought. I've known him less than a week and I'll forget about him just as fast. But her heart knew better and the closer they got to the club, the harder it ached.

Tom was halfway through a dance when they arrived. Evie hoped to catch him once he got off stage to tell him she was leaving, but she began to lose her resolve when he spied her standing at the door and smiled. "I can't do this," she said, breathless, as she watched him. Each movement, each gyration of his hips chipped away at her will-power until there was none left. 

Tearfully, Evie turned tail and pushed through the door, running into the parking lot to Amelia's car. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Cory's car maneuvered into the parking lot as she stood there, booming bass from behind closed windows and catching her attention.

As the men got out of the car, Tom came running out of the club, Amelia not far behind. It would have been almost comical, Evie trapped on one side by well-meaning friends cooing over her and making sure she was alright, on the other, her best friend asking if she was crazy, and straight in front of her a rather well-endowed adult entertainer who'd left the stage in the middle of his performance and was currently clad in only some tight-fitting, leaving-nothing-to-the-imagination, metallic blue booty shorts. 

With all four of them coming at her with a barrage of questions, she got overwhelmed. In an act of pure instinct, she covered her ears with her hands, scrunched her eyes shut and screamed, "Shut up! All of you, just, shut up!"

Her audience stopped speaking, stunned, and stared at her. Once she realized they were silent, she peeked her eyes open with suspicion and put her hands down. Amelia was the first to break the silence, holding her hand out and clapping it on Evie's shoulder with a concerned, "What's wrong?"

Evie shrugged her off. "Everything's wrong," she growled. "You all treat me like I'm some doll, too breakable to do my own thing." She glanced around the group and none of them met her eye contact. None, except Tom. "I can do this on my own," she continued. "I want to do this on my own. Cory, Nick, you guys have your place back. I'd suggest getting your locks re-keyed in case Chas decided to pay you another visit."

Tom watched her with expectation. "You're welcome to stay with me," he offered, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. "I've only got the one bed, but I can take the floor."

In her head, Evie had planned out the confrontation. She'd imagined his acceptance of her leaving, she'd imagined having a fight with him over it, she'd imagined everything but this generosity. "Thank you, Tom," she replied, her voice softening, "But I can't. I barely know you and, well, I can't have you saving me every day."

His eyes reddened along with his cheeks. "It hasn't been every day," he protested, but his voice was gentle. He wanted to grab her and kiss her, make her want to stay, but he restrained himself. Instead, he brushed his hand over her arm, beckoning her to let him take it. "Can we please talk in private for a moment?"

She nodded and let him lead her away, following him to the back door of the club. "What?" she asked once he stopped. 

He still held her arm, but not firmly. "Evie," he sighed, "You're not putting me out at all. My offer stands. Chas doesn't know who I am, much less where I live and you'd be safe. I could..." He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "I could take care of you."

She wanted to melt, but she willed herself not to. "Damn it, Tom," she said as she pulled away from him, "I don't need you to be my hero."

"I'm not meaning to be," he protested. "I just want to help."

She mustered all the anger she could just to dissuade herself from him. "Why?" she asked, her voice getting louder. "Why do you want to help me? We're not even friends!" Rather than burning a fire in her heart, the outburst gave her a cold lump in the empty pit of her stomach as she stomped away, leaving him dumbfounded.

Tom watched her leave, devastated. He wanted to tell her how much he already loved her, that she was the first person he thought of in the morning and the last person he thought of at night, but he didn't. Instead, he collapsed, leaning against the staff door of Carla's, fighting off the tears as he nursed his broken heart. 

He watched her as she walked away from him, wondering if he'd ever see her again. She didn't glance back in his direction as she loaded her luggage into the back seat of the car, then got into the passenger's seat. He hoped she would, just one tentative peek at him so he would know she at least perhaps had second thoughts. When the car pulled away, he gave up hope and turned to go back into the club.

"Hey, Man," Nick yelled, trying to get Tom's attention. He ran and clapped his hand on Tom's shoulder. "Hey, Man," he said as he tried to catch his breath, "I'm sorry. What she did to you was shitty."

Tom shrugged. "I'll get over it," he said, even though he didn't believe it, himself.

"No, she really likes you," Nick explained, "It's just... she's in this weird place right now."

"Because of Chas," Tom added. "I get it. I've met the man and he's an absolute arse. I've helped her as long as she let me," he sighed. "Believe me, I'll be okay. I've survived much, much worse." He held his hands up in front of his chest, palms out in surrender. "If my help isn't what she wants, I'm done."

Cory caught up to them. "I don't understand her," he groaned. His eyes went from Nick to Tom and back. "She doesn't know what she's giving up." 

Pushing the door open, Tom stepped inside. "Thanks for the pep-talk, guys, but I'm pretty sure I've got a boss who's mad as hell that I left in the middle of a performance." He didn't wait to hear what either Cory or Nick said as he let the heavy door close behind him with a muffled thud.

"And there's our wayward man, now," Vanessa said caustically as she met him in the small hallway between dressing room and back door. "I ought to fire you on the spot. Give me a reason not to, Romeo." She narrowed her eyes as she waited for him to respond.

Frank stepped up behind her. "Because the poor guy's just had his heart broke," he said.

Tom could only nod. He glanced Frank's wink from behind her shoulder and knew he wouldn't gloat about being right. "It won't happen, again," Tom mumbled. "I promise."

"It better not," she warned as she turned around and headed back into the main part of the club. "Now, change your costume. You're up again, since you shorted us on the last one. Then you're in the VIP rooms for the rest of the night.

He took a deep breath. "Okay," he replied. He went into the dressing room to change, feeling that anything he did from that point on was going to be half-hearted.

As Amelia pulled from Carla's parking lot, she shook her head. "I don't know what's gotten into you," she scolded, "But that was uncalled for. By the looks of it, you broke his heart."

Evie slunk into her seat, her own guilt pressing her into the leather. She didn't feel like explaining herself and she certainly didn't feel like giving excuses. "Just take me to the Crowne Hotel," she said. "I can't go home."

"Your mother is going to be frantic, you know," Amelia sighed. "You should probably call her when you get there."

"I know. I will." Evie felt hot. She raised her hand and touched her forehead, sure she was running a fever, but it was cool to the touch, so she pressed her face to the glass of the window. "She's going to try to talk me into getting back together with Chas," she finally said, her breath steaming up the window for a moment before dissipating. She knew it was inevitable. What she didn't know is if she had enough gumption to not only withstand Chas' attempts to get her back, but her mother buffeting her about it as well. "I just can't."

Amelia glanced at her friend from the corner of her eye. "Of course, you can't. The man's an ass. You need someone like the man whose heart you just broke."

Evie chuckled. "Yeah, my mom would love that, wouldn't she?" She sat forward and leaned her elbows on the dash in front of her before resting her head on her arms. "Hi, Mom," she mimicked herself, "This is Tom. Isn't he handsome? He loves me and I love him. I've only known him for a week- and, oh, by the way, he works as a male stripper." 

"You wouldn't have to tell her that," Amelia said. "I bet he could charm the pants off her with the accent alone."

"I doubt it." Evie's head hurt. She didn't want to think about Tom any more. She didn't want to think about her mother any more. She most certainly didn't want to think about Chas any more. She didn't want to think any more.

The conversation was as good as over, Amelia figured. She could tell by Evie's body language that she was done with everything and that there was no convincing her otherwise, so she drove in silence. 

When they reached the Crowne Hotel, Evie insisted on being let out of the car and left alone. "It's not that I don't love you, Meelie," she said as she hauled her luggage from the back seat. "It's just that, well, I have some tough thinking to do and I want to do it alone."

"I understand," Amelia answered. "You've got my number programmed into that phone and I've got yours." She motioned to the disposable cell phone in Evie's pocket. 

"I'll call you if I need you," Evie said. 

Amelia drove away, leaving Evie with her bags by the front door of the hotel. Evie took a deep breath and stepped inside. She wheeled her suitcases behind her as she approached the counter. "I've got a reservation," she said. 

The clerk took her name and looked her up in the computer. "Alright," he said with a smile, "I just need your credit card."

Evie reached into her purse, retrieved her wallet and pulled her card from it. "I'll use this one," she smiled.

He ran the card and his credit machine beeped. "I'm sorry, Miss," he said as he handed the card back, "This one's been declined."

She scowled. "That's impossible," she huffed. "I guess I'll try this one." She handed him her other card. It, too, was declined. Irritated, she called the bank, hoping to get an answer, which she did- Chas had cancelled her cards. 

Evie yelled at the bank rep over the phone about how Chas shouldn't have been allowed to cancel the cards, that he wasn't on the account, but, in the end, it was of little use. The only thing she got was the promise that the bank president would call her back the next day. 

"Thank you," she said to the hotel clerk. "I'm not going to be able to take the room tonight. There's trouble with the bank." She smirked as he nodded and pulled her things back outside. 

It was dark out, getting late, as she sat down on the curb at the corner. Evie was without money and without a room, lower than she'd been in her life. When she was a child, she'd been warned that her stubborn streak would get her into trouble and, now, it was. Instead of calling someone for help, she moved herself into the hotel's service entrance, covered herself in an oversize sweater, curled up on the ground using her smallest suitcase as a pillow, and cried herself to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Tom sat on his pull-out bed, his face in his hands, drenched with tears. After months and months of pain, she was gone and he felt lost. His mother had been his source of strength, the glue that held the family together. While he'd been expecting the call, he hadn't realized it would be so soon. And, no sooner had he hung up the phone after speaking to Daniel than the tears came. He felt helpless.

Daniel had a good head on his shoulders, Tom knew. As their mother's health failed, he'd had the wherewithal to make her funeral arrangements so no one would have to deal with it once she was gone. For that, Tom was thankful. He was so numb, he couldn't think. His little brother was definitely the practical one in the family.

As the tears subsided, Tom called into work. When Vanessa answered the phone, he explained the situation. "Don't you worry," she'd said. "Take all the time you need." Of course, she didn't realize that he had no safety net. His bank account was nearly wiped out by bills at the end of each pay period. He couldn't afford to take more time off.

Shortly after he got off the phone with Vanessa, his sister, Mary called. "Hey, Little Brother," she said when he answered. "I wanted to let you know that Aidan and I will be coming on Friday for Mum's funeral."

"Alright," he replied. Between the emotional battering he'd received from Evie, the difficulty of his work and the fact that Frank had become insufferably smug, and now the loss of his mother, Tom felt bereft. "I'll warn you, I don't really have much room here." He wondered where he would be able to put them.

"Don't worry about it," Mary replied. "We've got reservations at a hotel that's halfway between you and Dan. I wouldn't expect either of you to put up with a squalling newborn." She sounded so much more upbeat than he thought she would, but he knew she was just using the bubbly side of her personality to mask the pain.

Tom thought of his newborn niece. "How considerate of you," he said, adding, "You know, I really can't wait to meet our little Jennie."

"And I can't wait for you and Dan to meet her," she sighed. "I just wish we'd been able to get back to The States before Mum..." And there were the tears. He could hear her begin to sob and sniffle. "I've got to go," she finally said before hanging up.

He spent the rest of his night in silent reverie, leaving the apartment long enough to get the customary sandwich from the Cuban market below, returning with it to his apartment and promptly stowing it in the refrigerator. It smelled wonderful and he had no doubt it tasted the same, but his stomach turned at the thought of food, his appetite twisted by grief. 

By morning, he was exhausted, having fought the sleep he needed so much with thoughts about the future. Daniel had decided to take Mary up on her offer of relocating to Germany and attending school and would be leaving after the lease on his apartment was up at the end of the next month. Tom considered doing the same, since, at that point, would have no family and very few ties in the area. It was all incredibly daunting. There was also the possibility of moving out of state, perhaps to Las Vegas, where he could make more money.

Grief and uncertainty aside, his stomach decided, finally that he was hungry. He pulled the sandwich from the night before out of the refrigerator and devoured it before showering, dressing in fresh clothing and leaving to the laundromat for the day to do his wash for the week. Not only was he in charge of his own personal belongings, but Vanessa had also charged him with making sure the costumes were laundered. For that, she paid him an extra stipend. It covered the laundering of his own things as well and then some, so he was thankful for the opportunity.

The laundromat was empty, except one lone operator who sat at a desk, more interested in filing her nails and popping the bubblegum in her mouth than she was in anyone who might come in. As Tom entered, her cell phone rang and he watched with amusement as she flipped her lime green hair from one side to the other before answering it. He waved as he caught her eye and she smiled back. It was an unspoken camaraderie between them. Laundromat regulars.

After taking over five of the ten washing machines with his laundry, he sat down in one of the lobby chairs to read the book he'd brought with. He was so engrossed in his book that he paid no attention to other people as they walked in until he heard a woman say, "Tom?"

He looked up at her and tried to place her. Narrowing his eyes, he scrutinized her beautiful face, the expensive clothing she wore. His mind had forgotten, conveniently cataloging her into the recesses with other things better not remembered in the months since he'd last seen her, but his heart hadn't and it balled itself into a lump that jumped into his throat. "Evie," he breathed, then, remembering his manners, set his book down and stood up to greet her. "How are you?" he asked, still feeling the twinge of losing her in his chest.

She smiled, glorious as ever. "Well," she answered, "I'm doing much better than I was."

"That's good," he nodded, unsure of saying anything else. His hesitation left an awkward silence between them as they regarded each other. "Umm... it's nice to see you," he finally said, running the fingers of his right hand through his short curls. He wanted to tell her how heartbroken he was when she left, that he hadn't so much as looked at another woman since, but he didn't.

The buzzer on the washing machines went off and Tom stepped away from her. "Sorry," he shrugged, "I've got to get these done before work."

"Do you still work at Carla's?" she asked.

He nodded as he reached in and pulled a pile of wet clothing from one of the machines and loaded it into one of the stainless steel, rolling baskets. "Yeah, though I've been thinking it might be time for a change."

"To what?" she asked as she abandoned her own laundry to help him.

"I haven't a clue," he shrugged. "My mum just passed and my brother's moving back to Germany with my sister to go to school. The offer is open to me as well."

She looked disappointed. "Oh," she said quietly, "I'm sorry." Evie stepped away from him to grab her own laundry, unsure of what, if anything else she should say to him. Her heart was pounding out of her chest. She knew she was chancing running into him by visiting his neighborhood and thought it was a trick of her subconscious. "Sorry," was all she could think of to say, because it not only expressed the fact that she was sorry he'd lost his mother, but also that she regretted the way she'd left things. "I should get this going." Had she said what was written on her heart, she'd have told him how deeply she regretted leaving him how she did, that she did care for him and was thankful for everything he tried to do for her. 

He smirked as she turned away and began sorting the bag of clothes and watched out of the corner of his eye as she loaded them into some of the machine's he'd just finished with. Tom felt a surge of bravado. "You're doing your own laundry," he observed. "I'm surprised you don't just pay to have it done." He regretted it the moment he said it.

Evie looked offended, worse yet, her eyes reflected the hurt his comment inflicted. "I'm not a spoiled rich bitch," she shot. "I never have been."

"I didn't mean..." he backpedaled, feeling his face redden. 

"You did," she accused. "I know perfectly well what you meant. I'm not blind to the fact that you think I'm a spoiled little princess who had a bad experience and ran away. I'm not." She pulled her clothing back out of the machine and shoved it into her bag. "For your information, I've been living on my own with no help from anyone for the last eight months." Hoisting the bag over her shoulder, she nearly knocked herself over, but she gained her balance back. "I'm going somewhere else." 

Without letting Tom get any more words in edgewise, she left. He tried to follow her and got as far as the door. Once he got outside, he yelled after her, "Evie, come back, please!" but she showed no indication that she heard him. In his mind, Evie'd made it perfectly clear that there was nowhere in her life for him, if there ever was one. The least he could do was honor her wishes.

Evie's eyes filled with tears as she left. Here she was, claiming to be independent and her fight or flight impulses kicked in, making her run away, yet again. She stopped as she got around the corner, breathless and heartbroken. She thought about turning back, at the very least to let Tom know she'd heard him calling for her, that she was ready for him, but her pride got in the way. Instead of returning for the man her heart loved, she took a deep breath, straightened her back, and walked away.

Dejected, Tom finished putting his things in the dryers and sat back down. He tried to read his book, but it was no use. All he could think about was her. His heart belonged to her and he knew it, even if she didn't. His fingers remembered the softness of her skin, he remembered the scent of her, he wanted to take her in his arms and feel her warmth. He wondered if either of them would use that laundromat again.


	13. Chapter 13

Mary, Aidan and baby Jennie arrived at Miami International Airport three hours late. Tom had borrowed Vanessa's Subaru to pick them up and was sweating the delay, even though she'd assured him he was alright. Once they finally appeared from the bowels of the airport and stood by the side of the proper luggage carousel, he realized he barely recognized them.

Even though they were sister and brother, Mary and Tom barely resembled each other, usually. He took after their mother with the twinkling blue eyes, broad smile, high cheekbones, blond, curly hair. The only thing he got from their father was his lean, lanky build. Mary, on the other hand, looked very much like their father, with auburn hair, dark eyes, less refined features, but her build tended more towards their mother's roundness and curves, but only a couple inches shorter than Tom. During her time in Germany, she'd changed. Her hair was bleached blond, nearly platinum, she'd lost weight and was thinner than Tom had ever seen her. Their baby brother, Daniel, looked like the perfect combination of both parents. Tom had only met Aidan once and barely remembered what his brother-in-law looked like.

Tom approached them apprehensively. "Mary?" he asked, hoping the couple he saw with the baby was his family.

Mary was the first to turn around and her solemn face spread into a grin of recognition. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Tommy!" she squealed. "You're looking so good!"

"Thanks," he replied, smothered by her hair. "It's wonderful to see you, too, Sis."

She let go of him as soon as Aidan nudged her back. "Oh, God, Tommy!" she exclaimed. "You've yet to meet my family." She stepped aside and introduced them. "This is my husband, Aidan."

Aidan stepped forward and handed the baby to Mary. He shook Tom's extended hand heartily. "It's nice to see you, again," he smiled. "I've heard so much about you, lately."

Tom glanced sideways at his sister. "Have you now?" he asked, followed by, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well." Turning his attention to the baby, he leaned in and cooed at her. "And you're my little niece, Jennie," he said in baby talk. Looking up at Mary, he asked, "Do you mind if I hold her?"

Mary nodded. "Have at it, Uncle Tommy," she replied as she handed the baby over.

"How old is she, now?" He felt ashamed that he didn't remember.

Aidan interjected, "She's almost three months, now."

"Hardly a newborn," Tom returned.

His sister laughed. "True, but she's not quite sleeping through the night, yet and I'm sure you'd just love to be awakened by the screams of a hungry baby and face the possibility of a full nappy."

He chuckled and looked at the baby in his arms. "Awww, you're too cute to be all that bad," he whispered to her.

He carried Jennie through the airport as Mary and Aidan handled their luggage and escorted them to the car, only handing her back to Mary once he needed to fish the keys out of the pocket of the cutoff denim shorts he wore. Thankfully, the large hatch-back of the Subaru was enough room to accommodate what they'd brought. Once everything and everyone was secure, he paid the parking fees, all in ones, and began driving East, towards home. "Do you want to settle in or see the beach, first?" he asked, raising his voice over the wind whooshing into the open windows.

"Hotel," Mary and Aidan said simultaneously. 

"Which hotel are you at?" 

Aidan, who was in the passenger seat, checked his phone. "Um," he hesitated while he scrolled through the screens, "The Crowne Hotel."

"I don't know where that's at," Tom sighed. "Can you navigate it for me?"

With a nod, Aidan began fiddling with his phone again until he found his navigation app. He programmed in the address of the hotel and a robotic female voice began giving monotone directions. "Continue north on Florida A1A, then exit on southbound Northwest 17th Avenue."

Everyone in the car was quiet so he could hear the directions. "What's it say, next?" he wondered, then told Aidan, "If you can get the turn by turn directions, I can get an idea where it's at."

"Sure thing," Aidan agreed as he tapped the screen. He read off the directions carefully.

Tom grinned. "Okay, I know just where that is. It's right by the University Hospital." He turned the radio on and flipped to his favorite station. "Now we can listen to some music instead of just traffic," he chuckled. 

The three of them sang along to the songs, much to the amusement of Jennie, who giggled and cooed as her mother, sitting next to her in the back seat, lifted up her hands and danced with her. It was the first time in a long time that Tom felt completely relaxed. His smiles were genuine and his heart was finally light. It was a juxtaposition to the solemn reason for their little family reunion.

The route to the hotel proved easily navigated by Tom, who knew the streets like the back of his hand once he was on them. "It's very different when you're in a car, though," he excused with a laugh as he nearly turned the wrong way down a one-way street. 

Once they reached their destination, he pulled under the hotel awning and parked to let them out. "I'll go check us in," Aidan said as he climbed out of the car. "Be right back." He leaned into Mary's open window and gave her a quick kiss before walking to the hotel doors and disappearing into the lobby when they opened.

Tom climbed out of the car and closed his door. "I'll get the peanut," he announced as he opened the door to the back.

"Please, don't call her that," Mary scowled. "She'll hate it when she's older."

He unfastened the belts from the baby's car seat and carefully pulled her out. "No, she won't," he said in baby-talk, "Because it's a name from her super special Uncle Tommy." 

Jennie scrunched her face and began to whimper. "Feeding, time," Mary announced. "After this, it's nap time." She got out of the car as Tom made his way around to her side and took the crying infant from him. "Excuse us while we find a quiet place to nurse. She, too, disappeared into the hotel lobby.

Tom took a deep breath and unloaded their luggage from the back. He balanced the suitcases on each other and leaned the stack against the Subaru's bumper so he could lock the car. Aidan still wasn't back from checking in, so Tom decided to be helpful and wheel the luggage into the lobby for them. He had some trouble getting the wheels to cooperate as he pulled everything over the pitted pavement, but once he reached the smooth cement of the sidewalk, everything worked smoothly.

He waited for the automatic doors to open and stepped inside the air-conditioned lobby. One of the wheels caught on the door jamb and he had to wiggle it to get it to move. As he looked up from the suitcase, his eyes swept across the lobby to find Aidan. That's when he saw her. Evie. Behind the counter, talking with Aidan. Tom hoped she hadn't seen him, that he could sneak behind Aidan to the elevator bay and escape a conversation.

With stealthy steps, he walked so Aidan was blocking her view of him and slid easily around the corner and into the dead end corridor of elevators to wait. Aidan had seen him pass and met him there in moments. "Hey, Man, would you mind taking these up to our room while I track down my family?" he asked.

Tom nodded. "Sure thing." He took the card key from Aidan's outstretched hand and pushed the button for the elevators. The one directly in front of him opened first and, as he stepped in, he breathed a sigh of relief. He felt like he'd dodged a bullet. The room was on the fourth floor, so he pushed the 4 button and the doors closed, just as Evie rounded the corner.

Their room was on the East side of the hotel and had a slight view of the beach in the distance. He opened a window for them to let out some of the stale hotel air and let in some of the fragrant sea breeze, then sat down on the end of the bed. It was a nice hotel. The room looked like it had been recently remodeled, its palette in ocean blues and greens. 

He heard a knock on the door and Aidan's voice, muffled from the other side. "Tom, it's us."

He stood up and opened the door. "Nice room," he said as he stepped aside so they could enter. 

"Yeah," Mary agreed as she looked around, but her pleasant expression turned into a frown. "Where's the crib? We reserved a crib."

"I'll call down to the desk," Aidan sighed. "I'm sure it was just an oversight." He grabbed the phone and dialed the number.

While Aidan called, Tom watched Mary with Jennie. She laid the now-sleeping baby on the center of the bed and built a nest of pillows around her. She caught Tom watching her and explained, "She's not rolling, yet, but I feel safer this way."

He nodded. There wasn't much he knew about babies and their developmental stages. He imagined he wouldn't need the knowledge for a long time.

"They'll bring a crib up in a few minutes," Aidan announced as he hung up the phone.

Mary shushed him. "She's sleeping," she reminded him as she sat down next to Aidan and laid her head on his shoulder. "I might join her," she yawned.

Tom somehow felt he was intruding on them, that this little family scene, though he was related, he didn't belong. "Well," he said as he backed up to the door, "I'll let you all get settled in."

"You don't have to leave on our account," Aidan shrugged.

Shaking his head, Tom put his hand on the door handle. "I know, but I'll see you guys tomorrow. You look like you need the rest." He opened the door and left the room, making sure to close it as silently as he could so as not to wake the baby. There was a maid at the end of the hallway wheeling a portable crib. Tom was glad that it wasn't Evie. As he passed her, he let her know that the baby was asleep and to knock softly.

He took the elevators back down to the mezzanine and hoped he could get out of the hotel as stealthily as he'd arrived. Evie was not at the front desk and he let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Almost to the exit doors, he felt a tap on his left shoulder. He froze in his steps and turned around. She was there.

"Hi, Tom," she smiled. "I thought it was you."

He closed his eyes. "Evie," he sighed, "What are you doing here?" Opening his eyes again, he pursed his lips and waited for her response.

"I work here," she replied, with a smack of her lips. The question in her eyes made her feel the need to explain more. "You see," she began, "The night I left, I intended to stay here, but that asshole had all my cards cancelled. I had no money. Being the stubborn person I am, I didn't want to ask anyone for help. I know my friends would have, but I felt like I'd imposed on them too much, already." She paused and looked up at him to gauge his reaction before continuing. "I did call my mother, but she said the only way she would help me was if I made up with Chas and called the engagement back on." He winced when she said that. "Rather than do anything, I curled up in a doorway in the back- the servant's entrance. Barry, the maintenance guy, found me, brought me in, gave me a hot meal and let me sleep that night in one of the unused rooms. The next morning, he introduced me to Janelle, the manager. I explained my situation and in exchange for a room and food, I work the front desk." She shrugged and clasped her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels.

Tom couldn't resist. He lifted his fingers up and gently grazed her cheek with them. "I'm proud of you," he said, his voice breaking. "Does anyone else know you're here?"

"Amelia, Nick and Cory," she answered. "That's it." She could see the tears forming in the corners of Tom's eyes. "Tom..." she began.

"What?" he replied, his voice expectant.

Evie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out as she said the words, "I'm sorry." She opened them up to see a tear running down his cheek.

He smiled through the tears. "That's okay," he whispered as he leaned in closer. "I forgive you." Cupping her chin with his hand, he pulled her towards him and kissed her, his lips gently brushing across the softness of hers.


	14. Chapter 14

"Evie, we need to talk," Tom said on her voice message. "It's important. Please call me."

She flipped off the phone, sat back against the headboard of her bed and closed her eyes. It wasn't that she was avoiding him, she was wary of hurting him. It was every bit equal to the amount that he kept her at arm's length, now, guarding himself from emotional destruction. 

They really hadn't spoken since seeing each other at the hotel, other than one lunch out the day after. He'd told her about his mother, about the funeral the next day, but he hadn't invited her. And she understood. She hadn't even known his mother, but she'd wanted to be there for him and the fact that he didn't want her there stung, even though she wouldn't admit it.

Evie debated calling him back, right then and there, but then she looked at her alarm clock. I better shower and get ready for work, she thought, I'll just call him after. After, however, didn't happen right away. She was in the process of getting dressed when the hotel manager called her down early. There had been a medical emergency with the night attendant, whom she was replacing for the day, and they needed someone at the desk immediately. She hurried as quickly as she could, making sure to call the kitchen and order herself some breakfast to be delivered to the desk. Her phone was left on the bed and forgotten.

Tom's family was scheduled to check out that day, as well, and Evie hoped he just might be there to pick them up and take them to the airport. She'd smiled every time she saw his sister and her family, especially the baby, who was every bit as adorable as her uncle. The only time she spoke to them, though, was when they asked a question at the desk. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to ask all sorts of questions of Mary, but Tom had asked her not to let on the nature of their relationship. Evie wasn't sure if he was embarrassed about his job, her, or both, so she laid low and acted professional.

She fidgeted at the desk all morning and, as the hour of check-out drew closer, she found herself wishing and willing that she see him, regretting that she hadn't called him back, or that she hadn't reached out to talk with him. Finally, she saw the three of them emerge from the elevator bank, Aidan toting the luggage, Mary holding the baby. Evie looked expectantly at the door, but there was no Tom. As she checked Aidan out, she asked, "Do you need a ride to the airport?" It was a standard question she asked all the guests because some expected her to call a cab or direct them to the airport shuttles.

"No, thank you," Aidan answered, "We've got a cab coming. My brother-in-law is meeting us at the airport because he's leaving with us."

Evie bit her tongue and tried not to say anything, but her heart fell when she heard those words. She held her composure long enough for Aidan to step outside with his family, but then the tears began gushing. She called one of the other clerks to relieve her and then ran up the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, not wanting to see anyone. Her only thought was, So, that's what Tom wanted to talk to me about. She felt numb and her mind was racing as she reached her room and unlock the door. Grabbing her phone off the bed, she flipped the screen on and saw several more missed calls from Tom, along with more voicemails.

She anticipated pain as she listened to the voicemails. 

Message one: "Darling, this is Tom. I've got something important I desperately need to speak with you about. I'm going to assume you didn't get my previous message. Please call me."

Message two: "Evie, please call me, it's important."

Message three: "Hello, this is Tom. Please call me back as soon as you get this message."

Message four: "Evie, well, here's the thing. I've gotten the idea that you're ignoring me and, well, I'm not waiting this time. If you don't call me back after this message, I just... well... I can't."

He ended the last message with a resigned sigh. The tears in Evie's eyes made her vision blurry and she could barely see the numbers she'd programmed into her phone, but she found him. "Stripper Tom." It seemed so monumental now that she'd based him off of that one interaction when there was so much more to the man that she hoped she'd get to know. She hit the "Call" button and heard his phone ring.

It rang three times before he answered it. "Evie!" He sounded so relieved that she called him back. "Thank God you got my messages."

"I did," she replied. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back. I got pulled into work early and I forgot my phone in my room." She paused a moment and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she considered what she was going to say to him.

Tom spoke first. "I need to talk to you," he said, his voice restrained with hesitation. "Do you mind if I swing into the hotel in a few minutes?"

Her voice caught in her throat. She knew what he was going to say, but she thought if she heard it from him in person that she'd perhaps be able to talk him out of it. "You can," she answered. "I'm on break now, but I'm sure the boss will be alright with that."

"Okay," he said, his voice a bit too gleeful for what surely would be a painful conversation. "I'll be there in a half hour."

Evie returned to her desk. The wait for Tom was atrocious. She felt her heart pounding, her hands were clammy, her breath shallow- in short, she felt on the verge of passing out. She tried to throw herself into her work by calling the maids and coordinating the day's cleaning schedule with them so she wouldn't assign anyone a room that hadn't been properly scoured yet. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the clock and each second that ticked seemed like an eternity.

When he finally walked through the doors, he initially didn't see her sitting behind the desk. She watched as his eyes swept around the lobby and finally settled on the desk where she sat. He smiled as soon as he saw her and rather than casually sauntering over, as she expected, he bounded to the counter in a few leaping steps. "Hello, Darling," he said. "Do you have a few minutes?"

She nodded, then picked up the phone to page her coverage. "Jodi, can you watch the desk for a few?" she asked. Turning her attention to Tom, she smiled back. "Where would you like to go?" She stood up and waled around the counter to join him.

Tom pulled her into an embrace, enveloping her small form with his long arms. "Let's go somewhere quiet," he replied, his voice half muted by the top of her head.

"I know just the place," she said, turning around in his arms. He kept them around her as she led him to the courtyard. It was blocked off, closed for cleaning. "That's just for guests," she explained as she opened the chain that was across the door. "Staff are free to use it whenever." 

"This is perfect," he whispered as he nuzzled her ear. He guided her towards an empty cafe table on a small veranda that overlooked the sun-drenched pools of a koi pond in the center. There were some turtles sunning themselves on a log at the edge, some fake water lilies that floated near them and the flash of oranges, silvers, blacks and whites of the fish as they swam closer, expectantly gawping for food.

As Evie sat down, she felt her heart flutter in her chest and she felt faint from lack of breath. She inhaled deeply. "What's up?" she asked, afraid of what the answer was going to be.

"Well," Tom began, his own voice taking on a hesitancy that was absent only seconds before, "I need to tell you something."

There was a lump in her throat. "You're leaving, aren't you?" she choked, feeling the tears impending. She closed her eyes. "I already know. Aidan said they were meeting you at the airport and you were going with them."

"No," he returned, "That's not it at all."

She opened her eyes and looked straight into his. "It's not?" The lump dropped into her stomach.

Tom reached across the table and beckoned to her. "Give me your hands," he said.

Evie lifted her hands from where they laid in her lap and placed them palms up in his. In comparison, her hands were tiny. He curled his long fingers around hers. "I'm confused," she said. "If you're not leaving, then what?"

He chuckled. "My little brother, Dan, is moving out of his and Mum's flat and going to live with Mary and Aidan to attend school."

"That's quite an opportunity," she nodded, "What about you? Why aren't you doing the same?"

"I couldn't leave you," he replied. "You're the reason I'm staying."

Evie scoffed. It sounded too good to be true. "Why would you give up a bright future like that for someone like me?" she asked. "We barely know each other and... I'm hardly worthy."

He picked her hands up and kissed them. "I'm hoping to change that," he answered. "You've had my heart since the moment I first saw you. And I want you to know how much you mean to me..." He stalled for a moment, searching in her face any sign that she was about to leave, again. Satisfied that there was no chance, he continued. "Evie, I haven't been forthcoming with you."

Oh, no, she thought. Here's the part where he tells me he's actually married or has a few babies by different women. "Alright," she responded, "What's your story?"

Tom pursed his lips for a moment, letting them pop back out with a smacking sound. "I'm a wanted man," he finally sighed. "There's a price on my head, most likely."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were going to tell me something else entirely different." She was tempted to laugh, but his expression made her restrain herself.

"It's not the police," he explained. "I screwed over a member of the Cuban mafia." 

"And, yet, you work as an adult entertainer," she huffed, her tone nearly mocking. "Don't they frequent places like that?"

He shrugged. "Not Carla's. Vanessa doesn't allow any of the criminal element through the door."

"So, you're safe?" Normally, she would have doubted someone with a story like he had as a person who was bent on impressing her, but the look in his eyes told her otherwise. He was completely sincere.

Nodding, he added, "I can understand if you don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me. Hell, even my job might be a problem. I don't know that I would trust myself if..."

Evie freed one of her hands from his and placed a gentle finger across his lips. "It's not a problem," she smiled. "Not at all."

Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. "It's not?" he asked, his voice breaking with emotion. "The why have you been so distant? Why did you leave?"

"I needed to find myself," she replied, feeling her own tears well up. "Every day of my life, was sheltered and controlled. First by my mother, then by Chas. When everything blew up, I felt like a pane of shattered glass, fragmented everywhere, beautiful but painful to the touch. Since I left, I've been able to collect nearly all of those shards and recreate them into something that more resembles me. I'm a mosaic, now."

"What shards are missing?" he asked.

She stood up and made her way around the table. "The one that included you," she said as she leaned down and cupped his cheeks, losing herself in his eyes. "You were my missing piece."


	15. Chapter 15

Tom woke with a stretch. He felt more at peace than he'd been in a long time. Though he could have chalked it up to the fact that he no longer needed to worry about his mother's health, or about his brother taking care of her, he attributed it to the soaring feeling of love that filled his heart.

He and Evie had agreed to take things slowly. She didn't want to feel like she was relying on him too much and he didn't want to feel responsible for stifling her new found independence. Even though it was a joint decision, however, he missed her more than he wanted to. Their work schedules were frequently at opposite ends of the day and they went days without seeing each other.

When she could, she would come to Carla's and stand in the back, watching him dance, and afterwards Vanessa would give them time alone in one of the VIP rooms. They relished the togetherness, even though there was never sex involved. Not that their encounters lacked intimacy, but she began to appear less frequently along the wall next to the DJ booth until, a month after their tearful reunion, she stopped showing up at all.

He sighed as he rolled on his side and grabbed his cell phone. They both had the day off and he hoped they'd be able to spend it together. The phone rang four times before going straight to voicemail, but he disconnected before leaving a message figuring she would see his missed call. It was a familiar dance with them, these missed calls, the tentative connections that made them a couple.  
His shower was hot, of that he was thankful, enough so that it was able to massage the muscles that ached from the previous evening's performance and make him feel more human again. The compulsion to hover in the steam until the water went cold was present, but his bliss was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. 

He'd brought the phone into the bathroom with him and set it down on the sink and, as he stepped half way out of the tiny shower stall, he was glad he had. Evie's number blinked on the screen as the device nearly vibrated itself into the floor.

"Hello, Love," he answered as he reached into the shower to turn off the water. "I was hoping we'd be able to spend some time together today."

Evie already sounded exasperated, just by the way she breathed into the mouthpiece. "I would love that," she replied, "But my mother is finally willing to speak to me and I've got to sign the final papers on my townhouse."

"That's wonderful!" he exclaimed. Even though she sounded stressed, Tom knew she would ultimately be under less pressure, now that there was no longer the twisted vines of legalities to navigate, that she would no longer be under the cloud of selling her old townhouse, and that she could, God willing, patch up her relationship with her mother for once and for all. "Would you like some company?" 

"Yeah," she answered, "But I should warn you, my mother is a classist bitch." Evie hesitated for a moment, her voice wavering. "And the only reason she agreed to try and patch things up is because Chas will be there." 

"Why?" Tom asked. "Hasn't she got it that he wronged you?"

Evie groaned. "No, she hasn't. Somewhere in her deluded mind is this idea that Chas and I are perfect for each other and, well, while that may have been true a long time ago, it certainly isn't now." She sounded strained, like even the thought of Chas was enough to cause her to break down. "I'm glad you want to go with me because I don't know that I can handle it on my own."

Tom chuckled. "I can handle Chas if you can handle your mother," he teased.

"Not like that," she warned. "Just, if anyone asks how we met, please don't tell them the truth."

Her request sent a pang to his heart. "Evie, are you ashamed of me?" he asked quietly.

"No," she replied, "Why would you think I was?"

He took a deep breath. "It's nothing," he finally said. What he didn't want to tell her was how much her absence at the club made him feel empty, that he felt he didn't belong in her world, try as he might. "It just sounded that way."

"Tom, I'm not ashamed of you. I just don't want to give my mother any more fuel." Her voice began to seem distant. "Listen, I've got to get ready and I'm pretty sure you do, too, because it sounded like you were in the shower..."

"I was," he cut in. "It's okay. I understand where you're coming from. What would you like me to say, should she ask?"

"We met in a club in South Beach," she finally answered. "It's not a lie."

"Nope, definitely not," he agreed. "What time should I expect you?"

"Around eleven." Her end of the line clicked and she was gone, leaving Tom to dry off and get ready.

He stepped out of the shower, dried himself off and looked in the mirror. Fuck, he thought to himself as he looked at his scruffy reflection. I should shave. He regarded himself a bit longer before deciding that, if Chas was indeed going to be there, he'd want to look more the alpha male. The stubble was staying.

After leaving the steamy confines of the minuscule bathroom, Tom stood in front of his bureau and contemplated his wardrobe. He wanted to impress Evie's mother, even though, deep down, he felt he never would hold up to her idea of the perfect man for her daughter. Apparently, Chas held that place. He ended up pulling the suit Mary had made him buy for their mother's funeral, a charcoal gray one. His white shirt was slightly wrinkled, but only in places he figured the jacket would cover, so he didn't bother with the iron. Once he was dressed, he pulled his one and only tie, a cranberry red one, from its hanger and put it on. The final piece of his ensemble was the pair of nearly brand new patent leather Oxfords. 

When at last Tom stood and looked at himself in the full length mirror that was attached to the back of the bathroom door, he barely recognized himself. He'd gone from boy next door to businessman chic. He scrunched his nose at his reflection. I hope it's enough, he sighed to himself.

The clock seemed especially slow while he waited, though when she finally knocked on his door, it was almost too soon. Tom was as nervous as he would have been had it been their first date and when Evie's fist rapped on the wood, he jumped. "Be there in a moment, Darling," he said as he grabbed his wallet and his cell phone from the counter.

He opened the door expecting his angel, but what he found was the devil of his past staring at him with snakelike coolness. "Hello, Tom," the man hissed. "You seem to be doing well." He stepped over the threshold without invitation and lit up a thick cigar he pulled from inside his jacket. Looking Tom squarely in the eye, he growled, "Where's my money."

"Cesar," Tom breathed as he felt his legs go weak. He sat down on the sofa bed and looked up at the man with desperation. "I... I...," he stuttered, his capacity for verbal thought suddenly gone. "I don't have it."

Even if he had not been a member of a crime syndicate, Cesar would have looked menacing. He was dressed head to toe in an expensive black leather suit, which, in the Miami heat, made Tom believe even more that he was cold-blooded. The cigar he smoked sent puffs of smoke rings around his head, his black hair shaved closely. He had piercing black eyes that regarded everything with a keen predatory gaze and his intellect was sharper than a razor's edge. He nodded his head. "I want to believe you," he said, keeping his voice low, "But, see, I have someone I need to answer to as well." Another puff of smoke drifted towards Tom's face. "And there is a substantial amount of money that went missing from my establishment right around the time you conveniently disappeared."

Tom gulped as the lump in his throat grew and threatened to choke him. "Have you spoken with Kina," he asked, hoping to deflect something, anything, from himself.

"Kina is dead," Cesar answered flatly. "That Ruski decided a leap in front of a train was preferable to a red neck tie." He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Tom's wardrobe. "I see you are already prepared."

"Is that a threat?" Tom asked. his mouth was dry and his palms were wet, but he had enough survival instinct to defend himself against a single thug. His fear was, however, that Cesar had also brought his cronies with him and, one false move, they would bring down their wrath on his own curly head.

Cesar chuckled darkly. "Only if you perceive it to be," he answered, raising his chin. He leered at Tom. "Do you feel threatened?"

Tom set his jaw and gritted his teeth. "I feel a mite uncomfortable at the moment." He shifted in his seat and took a deep breath. "Listen, I don't have it. Do you think I would be living here if I did?"

Looking around the room, Cesar took stock of what conditions the apartment and its contents were in. "Fair enough," he shrugged, but his demeanor darkened once again. "Or, you know how to lie low. Did you think I would never find you living in Little Havana?"

"Honestly," Tom sighed, "I'd hoped to leave that chapter of my life behind." He was distracted by the buzz of his phone ringing. "Do you mind if I answer that?"

Cesar nodded. "Say anything about my presence and you'll be taking your last breath."

Tom pushed the answer icon on his phone's screen. "Hello, Darling," he said, trying not to indicate how nervous he was by the way he spoke.

Immediately, Evie felt something was amiss. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Are you alright?"

"It's fine," he answered, "Just thinking about my mum." It was a lie, but the first thing he could think of. In turn, the thought of his mother shot a pang through his heart. "It's still a bit raw."

"I understand," she said. "I imagine it'll hurt for a while. I'll be there in a few minutes, so if you want to talk..."

"No!" he interrupted, with the sudden concern that his abruptness was a dead giveaway. He shot a glance towards Cesar who looked more amused than angry. "I mean, we don't need to talk."

She took a deep breath. "As long as you're sure everything is fine."

"I'm alright," he replied. "Take your time, Love. I'll see you when you get here."

As Tom hung up the phone, he heard Cesar say, "So, we'll be having company." It was a statement and there was something menacing in the way he said it that ran a cold stream of fear down Tom's spine.

"My girlfriend," Tom mumbled. He turned his eyes back to Cesar and pleaded, "She doesn't know anything about any of this. Can't we do this some other time?"

"And give you time to run?" Cesar crossed his arms. "I think you might end up in dire straits." He crossed the room and stood in front of Tom. He was slightly shorter but more muscular. "Perhaps I should take her as payment?" 

The comment angered Tom. "She is not recompense!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the tiny apartment. His breath came hard and he felt like he was moving in slow motion as his fist caught Cesar square on the jaw. There was a spurt of blood that hit Tom on the shoulder as Cesar was knocked backward. As the man struggled to regain his balance, Tom crouched and charged at him like a bull against a conquistador, hitting him in the ribs. 

Cesar caught him around the shoulders, grasping around him at the moment of impact and adjusting to a choke-hold. He pummeled Tom, hitting his face until Tom was bruised and bloodied, sputtering obscenities. "I'll take my payment out of your hide if I have to," Cesar growled. 

There was a knock on the door and Cesar was distracted just long enough for Tom to grab the top of the makeshift coffee table and smack him in the face with it. It knocked the man back and he loosened his grip long enough for Tom to escape. Still gripping the wood, he brought it down on Cesar's head with a sickening thud, knocking him unconscious.

Out of breath, Tom dropped the wood and stumbled to the door. He fumbled with the handle and opened it, nearly falling out on Evie. "We need to go," he gasped as he used the door frame for leverage. "Now."

"Oh, my god!" Evie screamed, horrified. "What happened?" She glanced inside the apartment and saw the destruction, her eyes settling on the limp form of Cesar crumpled against the kitchen cabinets. "Is he dead?"

Tom shook his head. "I don't know." He grabbed Evie's hands and clumsily led her away from the apartment. As he glanced over the railing, he could see the black sedan with tinted windows Cesar had come in and it was surrounded by four other muscled thugs. "Come on," he said as he led her towards the roof access door. "We'll have to take the fire escape."

Once they were down on the street level, they ran down the alley, away from Cesar, away from his goons, away from everything Tom owned. "Where will we go, now?" Evie asked.

"I don't know."


	16. Chapter 16

"Let me get that cleaned up," Evie insisted as Tom sat on the bed. "You look like hell."

He held his hand up in defense. "It's not that bad," he grumbled. "He didn't hit me that hard." He'd needed to use his suit jacket to staunch the bleeding from his nose as soon as they'd gotten into Evie's car, but, after giving the fabric a good soaking, it had stopped. "It looks worse than it feels."

She held up a gauze pad doused in antibiotic spray and began to dab at a wound on his eyebrow. "Just, sit still," she said as he tried to squirm away from her.

"Ow!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth. "That stings!"

Evie stopped and gave him an apathetic look. "Would you rather do this yourself?" She tried to hand him the gauze. "There's a mirror in the bathroom, if you'd like."

He scowled and took it from her. "I'll be back in a little bit," he huffed. "Thank you, nurse."

She smacked him on the butt as he walked by. "That's for acting like a toddler," she said.

Tom turned around and stuck his tongue out at her as he disappeared into the bathroom. She could hear him complain to himself as he pulled more gauze from the package she'd left on the counter, then heard him let out little hisses as he cleaned the cuts on his face.

Her own wounds weren't visible. Evie was still in shock from the turn of events, herself. Sure, Tom had warned her about his past, but he hadn't gone into detail. She should have figured something was up when she saw the black sedan surrounded by muscle men parked by his building and it did send up some red flags, but she hadn't realized how deeply he'd been entrenched. The scene she walked in on was a wake-up call, and not a pretty one. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about yet?" she shouted.

There was silence in the bathroom. Suspicious, she walked towards it. The door was cracked open, but just a sliver of light shown through. As she advanced, she could hear him sniffling, stifling tears. As though he heard her as she tiptoed toward him, he cleared his throat and said, "Please don't come in here." 

She disregarded his request and pushed the door open, peering just around it. "Tom, are you alright?"

He was sitting on the toilet seat, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. He took a deep breath. "I asked you to stay out," he said plaintively, his voice muffled.

"It's my place," she reminded. She stepped into the room and knelt in front of him. "Besides, there's something wrong, isn't there?"

Tom stayed silent for a moment, just breathing into his hands, calming himself and drawing back the tears. Finally, he looked at her. His eyes were rimmed with red, his face flushed. "I told you I had some problems with the Cubans," he sighed. "Um... I skimmed some money off a gambling operation with another guy."

"Can't you give it back?" she asked, her voice full of concern. When he shook his head, she scowled. "Why not?"

"I don't have it." His words came out slowly. "I used it to help my family." Another deep breath, blown past his taut lips as he struggled not to let the tears emerge again. "My mum... she was sick for so long and we barely had anything when my dad passed." His lip quivered as he worked to steady himself, but his eyes revealed all the pain of his past.

Evie reached to him and grasped his hand. "Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry," she said softly, fighting back her own tears for him. "Why didn't you tell me?" She moved to embrace him and felt him stiffen.

"You said, yourself, everyone wanted you because of your money," he replied, his voice cooling. "I didn't want to trouble you with my problems when you had your own. Besides, it's my mess." He shied away from her advances.

With a resigned huff, she retreated, falling back against the wall with her feet off to the side. "Now it's ours," she reasoned. "I'm every bit involved in this as you are, now."

He shook his head. "No, you're not."

"That's not fair," she shot back. "What if they realized I'm the one that helped you escape? They know what I look like, now." In exasperation, she glared at him, waiting for his reaction. 

Tom studied her, then held his arms out. "I'm so sorry, Darling," he said as she curled into him. "I didn't mean for it to be this way."

Evie reveled in the comfort of his arms. She felt secure as he held her, but couldn't help but to feel like the protection he offered would be short-lived. Vocalizing the thought that niggled in the back of her mind, she managed to ask, "What happened to the other guy?" She turned her face up to him and saw the blood drain from his face. "Never mind," she said, "I don't want to know."

They stayed that way for a few minutes, just enveloped in each other, voiceless, but still communicating. She kissed his wounds, he snuggled her as though she was a security blanket, and perhaps that's what he felt she was. She wasn't sure, but she enjoyed the closeness of the moment. It felt like they were in their own bubble.

It wasn't until Evie's cell phone rang that their bubble popped. She jumped as the tone echoed through the tiny, tiled room. "You should get that," Tom encouraged as he peeled himself from her. "It might be your mum."

"Oh, shit," she groaned as she stood up. "I totally forgot about meeting her."

"You can still go, if you need to," he said after her, unsure if she heard him.

The phone was on the bed where she'd tossed it when they first got to the room and she managed to answer it on the last ring. "Hello?"

"Evangeline," her mother addressed in her normal accusatory tone, "I've been expecting you for the last hour and you've failed to make an appearance, thus far."

"Hello, Mother," she greeted through gritted teeth. "I realize I was supposed to be there by now, but..." she shot a glance at Tom through the still open bathroom door. "Something's come up. I don't think I can make it today. I'm sorry I didn't call any sooner."

The silence on the other end of the line was thick with the tension that radiated off her mother like rays from the sun. "Young lady, I don't know how you expect to keep your standings by blowing off social engagements. You're lucky I hadn't planned on a ladies' luncheon. It would be an absolute travesty."

Evie took a deep breath to calm herself. "Well, I hope you weren't too terribly put out," she replied. Even over the phone, her mother brought out the worst in her. She straightened her back as though the woman was standing in front of her and berating her. "Can we reschedule for dinner, my treat?" She didn't relish the thought of leaving her mother hanging for the day and knew anything was better than nothing.

"That's a delightful idea," her mother answered. "I can invite Chas and his parents as well and..."

"Not Chas, please," Evie interrupted.

Her mother clucked into the phone. "Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you, but I will invite whomever I choose. I really would love to see you and Chas work this little tiff out. I know he misses you."

Evie didn't feel like rehashing the story for her mother, yet again. She'd already explained the circumstances of her split from Chas and why she didn't want to see him, but her mother insisted on the delusion that they were perfect for each other and would be able to work everything out. "Fine," she groaned. "Chas can come, but I have a guest I'll be bringing with me as well." She saw Tom's eyes widen and he began shaking his head and pointing at the bloodied suit that was crumpled on the floor by the bed. "I'll meet you at seven at Il Gabiano," she said before hanging up.

She wasn't aware that Tom had left the bathroom until he was towering over her. "I've got nothing to wear," he said. "How do you expect me to face your mother and... Chas?"

Her attention was drawn back down to the suit. Even without the jacket, it was not wearable, the blood stains having gone all over the beautiful fabric and staining the white shirt. "Well," she sighed, "We can send it to laundry for cleaning, I guess."

"It's not going to be done in time," he groused. "I've got nothing else, either."

"Laundry has a bunch of clothing people have sent for cleaning and never came back to claim," she suggested after thinking a moment. "Maybe we can find you something to wear from that?" Evie didn't wait for Tom's reaction before jumping on the phone and calling one of her co-workers. "Yeah, hi, Dom, is there a suit there that might fit a really tall, thin guy?" She listened to what Dom said then asked Tom, "What size waist and inseam do you need."

He rolled his eyes. "You don't have to do this," he said as he put his hands on his hips.

She batted her hand at him and gave him a pout. "Not sure," she told Dom, "Just send up all the tall, lean suits you have, even if they're pieces." Once she hung up the phone, she got up from the bed and stood chest to chest with Tom. "I can't face my mother and Chas all by myself."

"Do you think she's going to like you hanging out with a guy who looks like this?" he asked, pointing at his own face. "I look like I've been through the ringer."

"It's not that bad," she tried to reason. "Maybe we can tell her you're a kickboxer." 

Tom let out a small chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her. "Alright," he agreed, "I'll go." He kissed her when she looked up at him with a satisfied smile.


	17. Chapter 17

"I'm still not sure about this," Tom groaned as he tugged at the jacket they'd found. "It still feels a bit tight."

Evie looked at him from the corners of her eyes in an attempt to keep her eyes on the road. "Jackets and ties are required at the restaurant," she explained. "I'm sorry we couldn't find another one." She was even more sorry that, considering she lived modestly without the use of the trust fund and the exclusive job she'd traded for her independence. 

"I've never been comfortable in this type of clothing," he complained. "The necessities of them have always been for functions upon which I don't look back too fondly - funerals, for instance." His face was drawn and that fact, along with the brutal reality of the bruises he bore, which were becoming even more pronounced as time brought out their anger, made him look like a thug on his way to a trial date. He mussed with his hair, using the mirror on the back of the visor. "God, I look horrible. I'm sure your mother will love meeting me."

She took a deep breath and let it out through gritted teeth. Second thoughts flashed through her mind, not that she didn't want him there, but that he'd have been better off holed up in her room until they knew what was going on. Of course, she felt safer with him there, especially considering Chas was scheduled to make an appearance. "Suits can be for good things, too," she retorted, then, reaching over and setting her hand on his leg, "Besides, you look damn hot."

He set his hand on top of hers. "Alright," he sighed, "Ego efficiently stroked. For you, I'll do it."

They maneuvered into the valet parking of the plaza where the restaurant was located and stopped at the curb where a man in a pristine white suit was waiting to take her keys. Evie couldn't help but let out a small snort at what they must have thought at having to park her beat-up Toyota among all the luxury cars in the parking garage. "I'm giving you the valet ticket," she told Tom as she unbuckled her seat belt.

He got out of the car and made his way around to the drivers' side. "Why?" he asked as he helped her out.

"If I'm facing my mother, there better be a good amount of wine involved," she rolled her eyes. Grasping his hand, she let him lead her to the curb.

"Who's name would you like to put your car under?" the valet asked as they approached.

Evie looked at Tom for a moment. "Hiddleston, Tom," she answered as she handed the keys over.

"Very well, Mrs. Hiddleston." As he stepped away from them, Tom stifled a grin.

"What's that for?" she asked, masking her own amusement. "It's a reasonable assumption."

Tom pulled her close and kissed her lightly on the temple. "I love that you didn't correct him," he answered. "Most women would've been offended."

She stepped one step ahead of him and looked back. "I'm not most women."

He could tell she was in her element, as much as she despised it. She waltzed into the lobby and approached the maitre'd to check in. Of course, the maitre'd recognized her right away and waved them both past his podium to follow a hostess. Everything was fancier than Tom, himself, was used to, from the crystal chandeliers, the sleek modern furniture and the deliberately worn-looking walls to the tuxedos worn by the entire staff. "This is quite the place," he commented as they were escorted to their table.

"It's my favorite," Evie whispered. "Just wait until you try the tiramisu."

Her mother was already there and waved as soon as she saw them. It was more an indicator for Evie to see her than a greeting, because it was accompanied by a blase smirk that could have been a disapproval. Tom already felt nervous and the way that the woman looked at him, immediately with distrust, made his stomach churn. He squeezed Evie's hand for reassurance. His own assessment was that her mother was attempting to look younger than her years, clad as she was in a designer suit, bleached blond hair and taut skin that looked akin to leather stretched a little too far. Everything about her looked fake and overdone.

"Evie, my dear," she said as she stood up, "Why don't you introduce me to your guest?"

Tom felt Evie squeeze his hand as she pulled him forward. "Mother," she gulped down her nerves, "I'd like you to meet Tom." Turning towards Tom, she looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "Tom, my mother."

He reached out and grasped her mother's extended hand and leaned down to kiss the back of it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ma'am," he greeted.

"Please, call me Marianne," she replied as she took her hand from him.

He helped her as she sat down, then did the same for Evie, thankful that he's been taught etiquette by his overly proper grandmother when he was young. As much as he'd assumed he'd forget it as time went on, all the lessons came crashing back. "Evie's told me so much about you," he said as he sat down in the chair to the right of Evie.

Marianne smiled, though even that was condescending. "I hope it's been completely positive," she joked. "Alas, I've heard nothing about you. Seems my wayward daughter has kept quite the secret." Her eyes shot a sharp look at Evie, a testament to her real feelings.

Tom chuckled, turning on the charm as best he could. "I'm afraid there's not much to tell," he replied. "We met dancing in a club, I couldn't take my eyes off her."

"What about your family?" she was like a viper, readying herself, gauging her prey before striking with a deadly venom. "Are they in Miami?"

"Sadly, no," he shook his head, "My parents have both passed and my siblings live in Germany, now." Evie squeezed his hand and when he looked toward her, she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Pity," Marianne smirked. "What do you do for a living?"

"He's a boxer," Evie said at the same time Tom answered, "I'm a dancer." He felt her foot kick him in the shin under the table and corrected, "Boxer."

Marianne's gaze went between the two of them and a suspicious look flashed through her eyes. "Well, which is it? Boxer or dancer?"

Tom took a deep breath. "I'm a boxer," he said. "But I also dance. It's helpful for the footwork." He hoped his explanation was enough for her and when she gave him a satisfied nod, relaxed just a little.

"Well, I would hazard a guess that neither of those occupations pays well, do they?" Her eyes pierced him and drove a cold wedge of fear through him. She was not a woman to be trifled with and her feeling already told her he was not good enough for her daughter, not good enough to be in her own presence. Not good enough.

He shifted in his seat and was about to answer when he saw Evie's face darken and saw her mouth, "Chasshole." Turning around in his seat, he saw the conceited form of Chas in his usual brown suit and tie, pushing his way past other diners and wait staff, making a beeline towards their table. He was followed by his equally stuffy parents, his mother clad in a pristine peach and ivory colored pant suit, his father in a three-piece business suit that looked like it cost more than Tom had made in his lifetime, Cuban gambling takings included. He stood up as they approached, an attempt at being a gentleman among the rudely rich. "Chas," he nodded when they arrived.

For a moment, Chas looked like a deer in headlights, his eyes widening at Tom's presence, perhaps remembering the beating he'd had at his hands. He helped his mother sit, then took a seat directly across from Evie. "Evie, my dear, you look gorgeous as usual," he said, ignoring Tom.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Chas," she began, her spite for him already evident.

"Now," Marianne interjected, "Let's be civil, please. I'd like to introduce you to Evie's friend." She said the word "Friend" like it was a profanity. "Chas, Merrill, Claudia, this is Tom."

Tom reached across the table and shook each of their hands, but his eyes were on Chas. He was ready to pounce in a New York minute if he tried anything funny with Evie. "Pleased to meet you," he said cordially.

Their faces were masques of social grace, pained to perfection in pinched smiles. "Charmed," Claudia returned. She gave Marianne a concerned look and was rewarded with a surreptitious shrug, both of which were not meant for Tom to catch, subtle cues that he noticed as he sat down. The wine flowed freely, allowing words to loosen, though he sipped steadily on just one glass, remembering that Evie trusted him to be able to drive home at the end of the evening.

Their waiter came to take their orders and the small talk continued, the whole while the issue they'd all arrived to discuss casting a pall to the otherwise benign conversation. Tom seemed to be the one towards which a better part of the underlying animosity was directed at, though he tried to ignore it. He was thankful for Evie's grasp, because each time he felt his teeth grit, felt that he couldn't help his compulsion to stand and knock Chas out, she would squeeze and remind him that she was equally as uncomfortable, but they were there for each other, together.

Finally, their food came and mouths were silenced in favor of gourmet food. A good variety of it, Tom had never seen, his exposure to Italian cuisine limited as it was to more Americanized dishes. He picked at his food at times and, when she got the idea he wasn't sure what it was, Evie would lean over and whisper what was in it. 

Chas saw these little exchanges, the way Tom would nod and smile, a slight blush on his cheeks, how Evie would giggle quietly, the looks they exchanged, as though they were in their own, private world, and each one built up a piece of the rage inside. Once his own plate was empty, he said something to his parents that no one else heard. They nodded and he stood up. "Evangelina, can I please speak with you outside, in private?" His last two words hung in the air like icicles, cold, pointed, ready to fall and impale at the first sign of warmth.

"Can I finish my dinner?" she asked, annoyed.

"It really can't wait," he replied impatiently.

She glanced at Tom, who shook his head. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to wait," she said. 

"Fine, then," Chas huffed. "I'll just have to do this here." He made his way around the table and knelt at Evie's side, wedging himself between her and Tom. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her hand away from Tom's as well, enclosing it in his own. "Evangelina, I want to apologize for how I've treated you. I was wrong and I regret it." He reached into his jacket with his free hand and pulled something out of his inside pocket. "Will you consider taking me back and consent to marry me, again?"

She stared at him, her eyes widening, then looking desperately at Tom. "Chas!" she shouted, still trying not to draw attention to them, but failing miserably. "What the hell?" 

The patrons around them were already looking, some had applauded when they'd heard him ask her, but most of their expressions transformed from happy for the couple to horrified at her answer. 

"Evangelina," her mother reprimanded, "Don't make a spectacle of yourself."

She stood up, yanking her hand from Chas'. "Come on, Tom," she said, urging him to stand with her, "We should leave."

Tom began scooting his chair out and, as he began to stand, Chas caught him with a blow to the chest that sent him careening into the table behind him. He righted himself, apologizing profusely, brushing what he could of the food that spilled on his jacket. "That was uncalled for," he directed at Chas, but all eyes and ears were on Evie.

Just as she reached to grasp Tom's hand, Chas narrowed his eyes and growled. As he stood, he hooked his arm around her waist and hefted her flailing, shrieking form over his shoulder. "If I can't have you, no one can," he whispered as he pushed his way through the dining room.

Evie watched helplessly as she was hauled away from Tom, saw his panicked expression as he realized what was going on. "Tom!" she screamed. "Help me!"

He caught up with them on the outside of the front doors. As Chas set her down, Tom raged, his lithe form taking on the persona of a straight arrow to the solar plexus of his enemy. He pummeled Chas with his fists and the world was a blur of violent offence followed by the painful red of defense as he was buffeted by the larger man's own.

Somewhere in the distance, the shrill scream of sirens rang, echoing with sharp tones off the glass and steel buildings in downtown. There were hands on his shoulder attempting to pull him off Chas, but he shrugged them off until, at last, they succeeded. 

"Son, calm down," a voice boomed in his ear. As Tom was sat down on the concrete curb, he came out of his stupor. A burly police man with graying hair crouched in front of him. "Would you like to tell me what happened?" Tom could see over his shoulder that Chas was being similarly questioned. His eyes panned the scene for Evie, but he couldn't see her.

"I..." he stuttered, "He... he was trying to take her." He turned around looking for Evie again, only half listening.

"She's going to be fine, she was taken home by her mother," the officer was saying.

Alarmed, Tom, replied, "What?"

The officer repeated his statement, following it with, "Now, I need to take you in, son. That gentleman over there is charging you with assault and battery."

Tom was stunned but silent as he stood up and held his hands behind him, allowing the officer to cuff him without struggle. "I defending my girlfriend," he pleaded. As the officer led him past, Chas gave him a satisfied smirk. There was nothing Tom could do but hope for the best and play along.


	18. Chapter 18

Evie tried to get away, but her mother, coupled with the help of Chas' father, were too strong for her. She was pushed through the crowded restaurant and forced into the back seat of her mother's waiting limousine to be driven away before the scuffle was broken up. "Tom!" she tried to scream as she was taken, but he couldn't hear her above the melee, above his own rage.

"It's better this way, dear," Marianne said once they were in the car, as though her own voice should provide comfort. "That man is below you. Don't drag yourself down."

Evie felt like slapping her. Turning her wrath upon Marianne, she raged, "He's not below me at all. Tom was there for me when no one else was. Not even you."

"There is no out," her mother replied calmly. "Have another drink, it will calm you." She nudged a champagne glass at Evie's elbow.

Nearly toppling the glass, Evie raised her hands and began beating on the partition between the two of them and the driver. "Let me out!" she screamed. "Stop this car!"

"Tsk," Marianne scolded. "Chas is your equal - he's got the social standings, he's in his father's firm, now, he's even on track to make partner within the next five years." She forced Evie back from the partition and held up the champagne glass. "Now, drink, Dear."

"Nepotism," Evie argued as she sat back hard against the upholstered seat, "That's all it is. Chas is an asshole. He cheated on me, he abused me and..." her eyes began to well up, "You're my mother and you're defending HIM!" She grabbed the half-spilled glass of champagne and gulped it down. "There, are you happy?"

"Ecstatic." 

It was the droll way she responded that made Evie suspicious. A feeling of being askew cemented it. She felt like everything was just slightly off, like she was Alice and this was the coach of the Queen of Hearts. Her mind floated in a hazy world where Chas transformed into a violent version of the Mad Hatter and Tom, her knight in shining armor, had been thrown in the dungeon. There was no one to save her as the grim realization that her mother had slipped something in her drink fell over her. "What did you do?" she slurred as her head lolled on the seat back towards her mother.

Marianne tried to play innocent. "It's just a mild sedative," she said curtly. "You were so worked up."

"Wha...?" The drug took effect as Evie's voice trailed off, her world going dark and silent as she fell down the rabbit hole into interminable blackness .

Once she woke, her head was pounding. The effects of the drug were slow to wear off and hit Evie worse than an awful hangover. At first, she forgot where she was. In her sedated state, her mind was blank and her eyes could only stare at the white painted ceiling, their inability to focus taking shape as shapes and colors concocted by her mind. She thought she was in her room at the hotel, that everything was a dream, that she was there and had yet to see her mother, that Tom was alright, that her mind had just created this fantastical tale, but, as she was able to move and look around the room, she realized it was all real. Instead of the generic walls and complacent artwork that graced her own residence, she saw the expertly designed and executed decorative mastery that belonged to only one person- her mother. 

Marianne had made it a point to create her own home, a penthouse atop the most exclusive Miami high rise, a perfect reflection of her own self-absorption. Everything was brightly colored set against a neutral beige landscape, all tropical and citrus, each room decorated with her own flair. In the room Evie found herself in, that flair manifested as a marble statue in the corner fashioned to look like Aphrodite emerging from the half-shell, except instead of the Goddess' iconic face, it was Marianne's at the youthful age of eighteen that had been carved there. That was the running theme of the penthouse. Her mother's tribute to herself - incorporation into classic art.

When she was a child, Evie was sheltered by her father from her mother's vanity. She was the apple of his eye, Daddy's girl, until his untimely death of heart attack when she was eight years old. After that, the haven of private European boarding schools provided a buffer. Now, as an adult, her eyes were opened. No longer blinded to the reality, she was sickened by how blatant it was.

Evie threw the blankets off that covered her, aware at once that she'd been undressed and put into a cotton nightgown she'd last worn when she was in high school. It was more worn than she remembered it, but still in good condition, but the pattern on it, covered as it was in flowers and cutesy animals, was juvenile to her now. Of course, her fifteen-year-old self found things like that completely adorable. She sighed as she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and tried to stand up, bracing herself against the bed with her hands. At first, the room was spinning as she moved, the vertigo nearly sending her reeling back into the stanchion of overstuffed pillows. She knew she'd have to take some time to move.

There was some noise outside the door as she tried to stand, once again, and, as she leaned against the wall, the door handle turned. The face that peered through the opening door was not her mother's. Instead, she was greeted by the familiar smile of Beverly, her mother's long-time maid; though slightly more wrinkled, she still had her brilliant green eyes and even more brilliant red hair. "Are you feeling better, Miss Evangeline?" she asked, her voice still the familiar timbre of Irish she'd been brought up with tinged with the Southern twang she'd picked up as she grew up. "Ms. Marianne said you were sick when you came home."

"Beverly," Evie greeted. "It's wonderful to see a friendly face." She moved to give the woman a hug, but the floor tipped and she thought better of it as she grabbed the bed frame for balance.

"You take it easy," Beverly scolded. She closed the door behind herself and moved towards the large windows that overlooked the city and, in the distance, the blue waters of the ocean. "I hope you don't mind, but I felt you looked uncomfortable, so I brought you a nightgown." 

"Thank you," Evie said. That explained her state of dress. Her guess was, considering the state of the clothing, when she'd moved out, all her old things had been given to Beverly. "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving."

Beverly nodded. "Ms. Marianne has a brunch planned shortly and has asked that you join her."

"I've got nothing to wear," Evie explained as she worked to take another step forward. Beverly saw her start to topple and sped across the room to help steady her. "Thank you, I've got it." She knew the protest would do her no good, but she felt she should try, at least.

"There's a new dress hanging in the closet," Beverly grunted as she held Evie up. "I'm to make sure you take a shower and are down in time." 

Evie knew there was no sense in fighting the inevitable. She resigned herself to the fact that her mother was, once again, controlling her life. With Beverly's help, she trudged to the en suite of her room, undressed and climbed into a hot shower. Admittedly, the water, the steam, the zest of the citrus ginger body wash and mint shampoo did wonders for her state of mind, waking her up more the longer she lingered in it. She was loathe to leave the sanctuary of it when Beverly poked her head into the room and warned, "Brunch is in ten minutes."

"Alright," Evie called through the steam. Begrudgingly, she shut the water off, grabbed a towel from the bar on the wall and wrapped it around herself as she emerged from the glass enclosure of the shower stall. She dried off as she walked through the air-conditioned room to the closet. The dress she found when she opened the closet door was nothing she'd have picked for herself, but it looked exactly like something her mother would wear. Where Evie preferred casual, looser-fit clothing in neutrals like black, white, brown and gray, things she felt she could move in, Marianne's tastes ran towards exquisitely tailored designer togs, items like the sleek, bodycon dress in black and fuchsia that stared at her from its padded hanger. "She wants to make me into her," she grumbled to herself as she pulled it from the hanger.

While she donned a clean bra and panty set that Beverly had set out for her on the bed and pulled the dress over her head, Evie committed an act of subtle rebellion in not bothering with make-up, as she knew her mother would detest, and opted to pull her hair into a messy pony tail without bothering to brush it. If she was going to look like her mother, she'd decided to be a caricature. 

She padded out of the room, down the hallway and downstairs in her bare feet, reveling in the coolness of the marbled floors beneath her. Her mother would not be happy, but Evie no longer feared Marianne's wrath. She felt she'd incurred the worst when she left her life of privilege and opted for self-sufficiency because her mother refused to speak to her for several months after the fact. Marianne was not the type of woman who would openly rage, instead her judgement came at a cost. In Evie's case, the price of leaving her old life was her trust fund. 

There was chatter from the patio dining area and Evie's initial thought was Oh, wonderful. We have company. As she drew closer, though, she recognized the sounds of Chas' family once again gracing her mother's presence. She fought the urge to turn tail and run, knowing that, even if she did, it would be no use. There was no car to drive away, her only footwear being the heels she'd conveniently left upstairs and the asphalt and concrete of the city would blister her feet in seconds. Dejected, she made her way through the formal dining room and out the sliding glass doors to the balmy outside.

Breezy, though it was, Evie broke an instant sweat as she stepped outside. The area where Marianne and her guests sat was shaded by a citrus-toned awning, but it was only a titch cooler than Evie imagined the full brightness of the sun was. "Hello, Mother," she grimaced as she approached.

Chas was immediately on his feet and at her elbow in a flash. "Evangeline," he cooed, "I am so sorry. Can you please forgive me?"

She wrestled herself away from him and crossed her arms before sitting down at the only other open seat at the table, next to her mother. "I can't," she replied, trying her best to keep her cool. "You destroyed every trust I had, Chas." She had to stifle her urge to call him the other name she had for him. Narrowing her eyes at him as he sat next to her, she added, "I don't know how you can think any of this is okay."

"Everything we are doing is in your best interest," Marianne said, her voice haughty. She had about her an air of offense. "You are completely ungrateful of the efforts I've put into you."

Turning her attention to her mother, Evie couldn't believe what she'd heard. "You're supposed to be my mother!" she said. "I can't believe you are siding with HIM!" Coolness lost, she felt the heat of emotions well in her eyes. 

Marianne looked exasperated. "I don't know how to say this any more plainly," she huffed. "Since it's obvious you can't be trusted to run your life, I've got to do this for you. You WILL forgive Chas and you WILL marry him."

Evie's face fell. "I can't do that," she said, feeling the breath leave her chest as she did. "I can't."

"You can and you will," her mother commanded. "I've got everything arranged and you will not ruin this for me."

"But what about Tom?" Evie cried. 

Chas chuckled. "He's been taken care of."

Her eyes widened as she turned back towards him, afraid of what she would find, that Chas, even as she knew him, was transformed into some horrible monster. "What do you mean?" Her voice sounded meek.

It was worse than she expected. "Tom," Chas explained in the way that only one who polishes his own ego regularly could, "Is in Miami-Dade County Jail. He's being charged with assault for attacking me. I doubt he's got the money for bail and by the time he does get out, you and I will be on our honeymoon."

"But it's not true," she argued. "You started it." She stood and fought against the weakness in her legs. "I'm not marrying you."

He shrugged. "Delude yourself, that's fine," he replied, "But he's going to be in there for a long, long time, so says my friend Judge Walters."

Evie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "I should've figured." She opened her eyes and glared at Chas. "It's not going to make me love you." 

Before he could react, she'd picked up a pitcher of ice water from the center of the table and dumped it over his smug head, leaving him sputtering with cold as she ran from the table and back upstairs to barricade herself in her room, her stomach in knots, her hunger no less raw.


	19. Chapter 19

Tom was still in shock as he was hauled away from the restaurant. Outside the patrol car he'd been so unceremoniously shoved into, the world flew by, unaware that he was in anguish. His arresting officer did his best handling him with kid gloves, but the other officers hadn't been so delicate. Tom was treated like a common criminal. Given the path of his life so far, he figured he should've expected to end up at DCJ eventually, but he never imagined it would be for defending his love, and he never thought it would be for dealing with someone like Chas. 

It was a short jaunt to the jail, a few minutes that seemed like hours stuffed into the back of a police officer's car that smelled of old urine and attempted cleanings of Pine Sol - most likely the car was more accustomed to handling drunks than anything else. There was a plexiglass partition between Tom and the officers in the front and, even though it had some holes to allow communication, it blocked a majority of the air conditioning. The car was still sweltering from the heat of the day, the fact that the sun was setting was of little consequence.

Once they finally arrived, he was yanked from the back seat by his shirt collar, which was ripped and bloodies from the fight, and pushed him into the main courtyard by the handcuffs that held his arms behind his back. He had no choice but to comply as he was processed, following each of their commands with a fear of the inevitable - that those moments might be the last of peace he'd have for a while. He was fingerprinted, photographed, stripped down and given an orange DCJ jumpsuit to change into. 

As he walked the long hallway to the holding cells, his greatest fear was encountering one or more of Cesar's goons, that he'd be ratted out, or worse. His throat was dry and beginning to close up and his breath was labored by stress by the time the officer escorting him began unlocking the door. "Good luck," the officer said before shoving Tom inside. He hadn't even had the wherewithal to pay attention to who the officer was, what they looked like, man or woman. In his mind, he'd been captured by faceless entities and dropped into hell.

Hell was an understatement. Once the door was slammed shut behind him and locked once again, Tom took stock of his situation, his vision somewhat disturbed by the flickering buzz of the faulty fluorescent lights overhead. It was less of a cell than a holding pen, built for five or six prisoners at the most, crammed wall to wall with twenty at least, like cattle at a slaughterhouse. There were dilapidated , steel-framed bunk beds three high on opposite walls - these inhabited by the toughest looking men that eyed him hungrily as he assessed them. Other men were huddled on the floor, some covered with thin, itchy-looking blankets, others shivering on the concrete. The rest of them, stragglers, newcomers like himself, were squatting with their backs against the walls and the bars, wherever they could find real estate. There was a single sink to the room and a single toilet, plugged and near overflowing, filling the entire place with the rank odors of vomit and shit. 

Tom hadn't even had time to look at all the faces and see if he recognized anyone in the cell with him before he was slammed up against the wall by one of the heavyweights. The man's ham fist grasped the front of his jumpsuit in a knot that tightened at the base of his throat, nearly holding his feet off the floor. He was tall, taller than Tom, beefy with muscle, stronger. His skin was dark, tanned, covered with black tattoos that formed an intricate pattern everywhere except his face. "What fresh meat do we have here?" he growled, his odorous breath doing it's best impression of the jail cell toilet as it made its putrid way into Tom's nostrils. His eyes flared, their color seeming a bloody red in the lighting. 

"Put me down, please," Tom replied, "This is all a horrible mistake."

The assailant laughed, but it was dark, humorless. "We've got ourselves a fancy Englishman," he jeered, much to the amusement of the other inmates. "Do you think you're above us?" His teeth were gritted and his nostrils flared, his temperament challenging Tom to fight back.

Instinct led Tom to react, though not in the way he'd anticipated he would when he'd thought about the possibility of incarceration. Summoning up all his power, Tom brought his knee up sharply into the man's groin. It was enough of an impact that it stunned him enough so that he loosened his grip on Tom's clothing. Sensing his opportunity, Tom slid out of the way and slammed his assailant's head into the concrete wall, knocking him out. 

It seemed to happen in a flash, so fast that Tom didn't realize the impact of his actions until he looked down at the man's crumpled form, his head bloodied, the wall matching, and the cell was silent. The other prisoners who, at his cost, had been snickering and cajoling now refused to look him in the eye. All but one. A wiry man who'd been tucked into the far corner came forward. He had long, greasy black hair and a weaselly look, accented by his pockmarked skin, a pinched nose and cold, calculating eyes. "Ain't you the man, now?" he smiled, showing off a set of crooked teeth dotted with decay. 

"What?" Tom asked. "I don't get what you mean."

The wiry man held out his hand to shake and Tom took it. "You took down Wolf, man," he explained as he drew Tom closer to him. "That means you the man. Ain't nobody gon' mess wit you." He spoke his words like he was chewing them up and spitting them out.

"Wolf, huh?" Tom replied as he let go of the handshake and shot one more glance at the big man on the floor. 

"Street name," his new associate said. "No real names in here 'cause this ain't real." He nodded his head at Tom. 

Tom shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Figures," he groaned. "I'm Tom, by the way. Real name."

The wiry man opened his mouth and was about to say something else, his expression indicating a smart remark that melted into impressed horror as one of his cronies whispered something in his ear. "Fuck, man," he said, unblinking. "You're... Hell, I ain't messin' wit' you, no way."

"What?" Tom asked, concerned, not for the fate of his possible alliance, but because the fear in the wiry man's voice superseded everything else in the godforsaken cell. "What did he just say?" He hadn't gotten a look at the whispering man, but when the prisoner turned his face, the faint glimmer of recognition flickered in his eyes. The short cropped, black hair, the dark eyes, the calculating look and, most of all, the diagonal scar that ran across the man's face from left eye to the right side of his jaw was a dead giveaway. "You're one of Cesar's men, aren't you?" he said under his breath.

"Si," the man said. "I know Cesar, but I know you, too." He approached, wiry man moving out of his way. "Word is, you've got a price on your pretty head." On the word "Head," he reached up and twisted a lock of Tom's hair around his index finger. "I wonder what you could give me to disappear?"

"I've got nothing," Tom gulped. "Whatever you've heard, it's not true."

"Relax, man," came the reply. "I've got no more loyalty to Cesar than you do." The astonishment on Tom's face egged him on. He let go, but leaned in closer. "This is between you and I," he whispered, "You get me?" A nod and he continued. "There are certain interested individuals who would like to see Cesar brought down. I happen to work with one of them."

The admission made Tom do a double-take. "But...but," he stuttered, "You're one of Cesar's men. I've seen you with him." He blinked hard as his throat went dry. A peripheral sweep of the holding cell showed him that the other inmates had long ago lost interest in him as the newcomer, either that or they demurred to him, an avoidance after his takedown of Wolf. "Is there anyone in here I should be afraid of?"

The man shook his head. "No, these guys are all small-time and none of them works with Cesar. It won't be long until Cesar knows you're here, though. The best thing for you would be solitary." He grasped Tom's bicep and pulled him into the center of the room. "You are the top dog, now," he said, loud enough that the other prisoners could hear. "Get ready to defend your turf."

Tom looked at him, confused until the man's fist connected with his jaw. It wasn't a hard hit - not enough to do any damage, but still smarted and threw him back a little. He understood what the man was saying as another inmate stood and joined in with a kick to the back of his knees. It dropped Tom to the floor, but he rose almost as soon as his knees hit the cement, swung around and decked the guy. He spun and drove into the chest of the man who'd hit first, pushing him back against the wall with a thud. The others in the cell began rumbling, their voices carrying throughout the confinement with a mixture of confusion and wonder, but no one else joined in. It was between the two men, alone.

A guard outside the cell heard the tiff and banged on the bars. "Break it up, guys," he barked. "I'd hate to have to come in there." When neither of them acknowledged his command, he pulled his keys out in a huff, called for backup and unlocked the cell. He assessed the situation and strong armed Tom's attacker. Within seconds, there were two other guards in the cell. Each one of them grabbed one of Tom's arms and pulled him away, fists still swinging, teeth gnashing.

Once Tom was safely outside, he stopped fighting, relaxing against the pull of the men who held him. The first guard followed them out of the cell and locked back up before turning his wrath on Tom. With a hit to the gut, Tom was doubled over. "We don't take kindly to men starting fights, here, boy," the guard growled. "You're gonna be kept all by yourself." His breath stank like an old sandwich and cigarette smoke. Tom thought he was the guard who'd brought him to the cell in the first place, but he wasn't sure until the guard ran his hands through his greasy brown hair. "Take him away, boys. Take him away."

The two men who held Tom's arms steered him down the long corridor, once again. As he was unceremoniously shoved, he endured the catcalls and occasional projectiles of old luncheon meat and various bodily fluids that were hurled in his direction until, at last, he was put in a single cell, no more than five foot wide and seven foot deep, with its own creaky bed, its own threadbare blanket, its own sink, discolored from bad water and years of conscious neglect. "What if I need to use the loo?" he asked as they locked him in.

One of the officers shrugged and walked away, the other answered, "Use the corner, use the sink. You think I give a shit?" He left as soon as the door was locked again without any other words said.

Dejected, Tom laid down on the bed, its thin mattress filled with lumps and bumps, smelling slightly of urine which, in retrospect, smelled better, sweeter somehow than the rank and decay of the group cell. He fell into a deep, troubled sleep, dreaming a dream about Cesar, Chas and Evie, loathing the former with a vengeance and longing for the arms of the latter.


	20. Chapter 20

When Chas and his parents finally left, Evie ventured out of her room. She was afraid of him, but she'd learned a few things when she was on her own and, instead of the cold detachment she'd felt for her mother in the past, she now felt an underlying animosity that manifested itself as passive aggressive rage. As for Chas' parents, the thought of them in their haughty deference made her ill. The thought of facing her mother alone was a welcome respite from the dinner and that afternoon's surprise brunch. Evie thought if only she could reason with her mother, she could make some semblance of sense out of the chaos that was her life. Marianne was her key.

As she passed through the foyer, she spied her purse jammed in the top drawer of the entry table, the attempt to hide it a feeble failure. She pulled it out and rifled through it, making sure the contents were intact. With a cautious sigh of relief, she returned to her room. There were several missed calls from her friends, as well as some from the hotel, all from the days she'd been gone, three in total since the incident at the restaurant. She wanted to return them all, but she didn't know how much time she really had once she returned to her room with the contraband. Her one chance at making a phone call was spent on Amelia. It rang once and Amelia answered, "Evie, what the hell happened?" 

"My mother," Evie began, trying to replay in her head the events that seemed too extraordinary even for her to believe, "She drugged me and brought me home. She's trying to force me to marry Chas."

The silence on the other end was not a good indication. Finally, Amelia replied. "What happened with Tom?" 

Evie recounted the events at Il Fornacio, up until she was taken. "Chas has some shady dealings with a judge who's promised to have Tom locked up for a long time," she finished with. "I need your help."

Amelia was angry. "I'm sorry to say this," she sputtered, "But your mother is a true bitch if that's what she's doing to you. You can't force someone to marry against their will and especially not to someone like that." She took a deep breath meant to calm down, but instead it spurred her on. Finally, she asked, "What can I do?"

"I've got some money," Evie answered. "It's from the sale of the townhouse and it's tied up at the moment. Chas lied to the bank and now he has all control of it. I was going to let him have it and be done with it, but this is the only way. If you bail Tom out, I'll get you back."

"How are you going to do that?" 

Evie knew she was playing with fire. With a sigh, she replied, "I'm going to agree to the marriage."

Amelia was speechless, but after a few moments of gathering herself, she asked, "You're going to do what?"

"I can't see any way to get my money and get out of it," Evie answered. "I can argue for an annulment after I get my money back."

"But, what about Tom?" 

At the mention of his name, after this aspect, after this revelation to her best friend, Evie broke into soft sobs. "Tell him I love him and that I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking with the tears. She heard her mother calling her and said, "I need to go," hanging up the phone as she grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dabbed the tears from her face.

As she stole into the spacious living room, with its modern design, high windows overlooking the city and sea and colors mimicking the tropics, Evie could see her mother, drink in hand, staring at something in the distance. Marianne was so entrenched in her own thoughts that it took three times of Evie calling to her before she snapped to and turned her attention to her daughter. "Evangeline, for God's sake," she berated as she nearly spilled her wine, "Don't sneak up on me like that."

Evie ignored it, instead tenderly lying her hand on her mother's shoulder. "You called?"

Marianne rolled her eyes. "This is about the wedding." She walked to the sofa and took a seat as she set her wine glass on the coffee table. "Well, come, sit," she invited as she patted the seat next to her.

"Mother," Evie said with a sigh as she sat down, "I know you want me to forgive and forget and marry Chas." She took Marianne's free hand in her own. "I'm not that person, it's not something I can do." Her eyes caught her mother's and she implored her, "Don't make me do this." Her entire plan went out the window as her own inner voice shut them down in defense of self-preservation.

"Your father would be disappointed." Marianne held her hand over her heart and closed her eyes, a devotional form of reverence that Evie didn't believe at all. Upon opening her eyes, she continued, "You know, he and I, we had out problems. There were infidelities, but I stayed with him because I knew it was best for me. He provided the life I wanted to lead."

Taking a deep breath of patience, Evie shook her head. "I don't want that," she said, sure her voice was getting softer by the word. "I don't care for Chas at all. The thought of what kind of person he is makes me sick."

"You loved him once, you can love him again." Marianne's eyes narrowed at her daughter. "This is not something that is up for discussion."

"Not up for discussion?" As surely as her voice softened, now it raged. "It's my life! Shouldn't I have a say in it?"

Her mother shook her head and pursed her lips. "You ran away and made a fool of yourself, working in that hotel for people that are beneath you. You sold your townhouse for what? A pittance. And you're supposed to be self-sufficient? You live in a hotel room."

Evie was exasperated. She expected to be able to talk it out with her mother, to come to an understanding, but all she found was a brick wall built of Marianne's own biases. Finally, she exploded. "Why is this so important to you?" she yelled as she stood up and kicked the corner of the sofa. "If you love Chas that much, you should marry him!"

Marianne's face got even more taut than usual. "That would hardly be appropriate," she replied, her voice cloying and calm. As she stared at her daughter, her facade began to crumble. Bit by bit, the emotions that she hid with the guarded coolness she normally exuded pushed through, crack by crack, piece by piece, until she was transformed from the tough-as-nails woman Evie knew her to be into a shaking mess of emotions. Her eyes reddened with impending tears and her lips quivered. Finally, she explained, "Everything your father left is nearly gone." It was more a whisper than anything. "We need Chas' money to live as we have been."

The sight of her mother in tears was more than Evie could bear. "How is Daddy's money gone?" she asked. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her and, as the floor felt like it pitched forward, she found herself flung back into the cushions of the sofa, propelled there by her legs giving out from under her. "How?"

"I made some bad investments," Marianne answered. "And then there's the payments on this penthouse..." She took a deep breath. "It all adds up." Dabbing at the tears in the corner of her eyes with her shirt sleeve, she pleaded, "This is about so much more than you. This defiance, it's a selfish act. If you marry Chas, we never have to worry about anything ever again."

"And, here I thought he wanted to marry me for my money," Evie shot. "Is he aware of any of this?"

Her mother shook her head. "He can't," she replied. "Don't you tell him."

Evie put her hand over her eyes and rubbed them. "You couldn't be truthful with me before?" she wondered aloud. "Would it have been that hard?" It wasn't a question she wanted answered. As she took her hand away, the immense room seemed claustrophobic, the oxygen missing her lungs altogether. "When did you plan all this?" she asked after some brief moments of strangling silence.

"When you and Chas began dating," Marianne answered. "Merrill and Claudia pledged if the two of you got married that Chas would receive half their fortune as a wedding gift." She sighed. "It was all so simple."

A vision of Tom sitting in a jail cell flashed through Evie's mind. She knew she couldn't bear to see him suffer like he was, even in her imagination. "Fine," she resigned, "I'll marry him, but I need to have him sign over all my money from the townhouse in good faith."


	21. Chapter 21

Tom spent two days in the sanctuary of his solitary cell. While he didn't exactly relish the imprisonment, he was thankful he was no longer in the holding cell full of miscreants. First-day experience had taught him a lesson he was quick to learn - that it was a brutal place he would avoid again at all costs. At least in solitary, he had three meals brought to him, granted they were generally some mush disguised as potatoes, a mystery meat that he preferred to avoid and a cup of tepid water, but he could imagine that the inmates in the rest of the East Wing fared worse. He was almost thankful that the scar-faced man had saved him, suspicious as he was about the man's motives.

Thoughts of Evie filled his mind, wondering what happened to her while he fought with Chas. There was a brief moment where he'd thought he'd heard her call for him, but then, there was nothing else. He feared the worst and his gut instinct told him that the fears were not unfounded. He found that, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine she was there with him, he could almost reach out and touch her soft skin, smell her perfume, taste her lips, but it was a poor imitation of reality.

He was lost in these thoughts in the darkness of his cell on the second day when the door was opened. The guard that had strong-armed him on the first day stood there, hands akimbo, feet apart, a power stance in the dim light of the hallway. "Get your ass up, you pansy-ass Brit," the guard barked. "You're being summoned to the upper levels." Tom had no idea what he meant - he'd only ever been on the one level of the jail.

"Give me a moment," he mumbled as he scrambled to his feet. The long hours spent in the cell made him feel weak, and the light from the fluorescents that flickered in the hallway was bright enough to make him squint, his eyes sensitive and his mind instantly registering a headache.

The guard grasped his bicep and dragged him, not caring that his legs were weak with pins and needles, barely able to feel their own work as he forced Tom to walk. "Get your ass going," he commanded.

Tom was hustled back down the hallway gauntlet, once again enduring a barrage from the other prisoners until, at last, they were sealed off from the melee by the metal doors of the elevator. "What's this about?" he asked.

Grumbling, the guard answered, "I have no idea." He ushered Tom into a small, windowless room, one Tom assumed was meant for lawyer/client meetings due to the single table in the middle, bolted to the floor, accompanied by two chairs chained to the floor as well. He was sat down on the chair closest to the wall and left there. 

A few minutes later, the door opened again and the same guard shoved the scar-faced man in, manhandling him the same way he'd done with Tom. "Knock when you're done," he instructed and the scar-faced man nodded.

The door closed and Tom heard the rattle of keys in the lock, effectively sealing them in. "Thanks for getting me out of..." he began.

The scar-faced man held up his hand and interrupted him. "You're an integral part of my investigation." His eyes pierced Tom and he narrowed them. "When I told you I worked for someone who wanted to see Cesar go down, I wasn't lying," he explained. "I've been working undercover for three years now, trying to bring him down."

Tom's eyes widened. "Shit," he exclaimed. "What do you mean I'm part of your investigation?"

"You're the only one I know who's had the balls to mess with Cesar," the man replied. "I've been able to get close to Cesar and his crew, but not close enough for any of them to divulge their supplier, nor how they've gotten the heroin they sell into the U.S., either. If I can get a connect with this, he'll go down."

"And you think I can?" Tom could feel his heart beating in his chest as his lungs constricted. He could barely breathe. "Cesar wants to kill me."

The man shook his head. "Not before he gets his money back," he said. "We'll say I found you here while we were both incarcerated, you surrendered to me, I'll bring you to Cesar, you volunteer to be his mule."

"What if he kills me, first?" It was a real possibility that Tom wasn't sure the man had thought through.

The man took a deep breath. "I will be there, he won't do it."

Tom could see no way out of it. Either he was damned to spend however long imprisoned in DCJ, perhaps even get shipped to a worse place, or he was damned to risk his life helping get rid of Cesar. "When do we start?" he asked. "And what do I call you?"

"Cesar knows me as Sandro," he answered. "That's all you need to know at the moment." He tapped his fingers on the table top. "As far as beginning, tomorrow morning you and I will be released. Once I bring you in, I imagine Cesar will have no reason not to trust me fully."

Covering his face with his hands, Tom rubbed his eyes and mumbled, "I hope you know what you're doing."

Sandro caught his wrist and pulled one of his hands away. "Listen," he reasoned, "I'm a 20 year veteran of the police force. I've got two-thirds of those years as undercover narcotics. I've got your back and once we're done, these charges will be gone." He was earnest.

"How?" Tom wondered.

"Anyone can see they're bogus," Sandro shrugged. He stood up from the table and knocked on the door. As the guard unlocked it, he turned to Tom. "See you in the morning, partner."

After Sandro left, Tom was once again at the mercy of the guard, roughly taken from the room, marched back to his own cell in solitary and tossed in like so much refuse. He felt bruised, beaten, both emotionally as well as physically as he laid down on his bed, his mind whirling with almost too much information. At some point during his mental maelstrom, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The door to his cell was thrown open and Tom was jarred awake. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep and his exhausted eyes squinted into the incoming light. "Get up," came a gruff command. "You're getting out."

It had begun. Tom scrambled to his feet and stared into the hallway, letting his eyes adjust as he was escorted. He was thankful to be in the presence of a different guard, though the new one seemed less interested in his well-being than the other one did. He was shoved into the hallway and held at arm's length by a gun barrel as he was escorted back to the area where he'd begun his ordeal. He was ordered to shower, his torn and bloodied second-hand suit returned to him, and, once he was given back his personal items, set free.

Sandro was waiting for Tom in the courtyard, gone was the orange DCJ jumpsuit, replaced by a black leather jacket, black t-shirt jeans, and boots that looked like they'd seen better days. "I'd love to give you some clean clothes," Sandro said as he grabbed Tom by the scruff of his neck and began walking with him towards an underground parking garage across the street, "But appearances are everything. You need to look like you've been roughed up. Cesar won't care who did it."

Tom nodded. He knew it was true. If Sandro showed up with him cleaned and dressed in nice clothing, they'd both be under immediate suspicion. "I suppose you ought to blindfold me, as well," he sighed.

"Sorry, man," Sandro apologized as he unlocked the door and shoved Tom into the back seat. He produced a black hood and some lengths of rough rope from the pockets in his jacket. The hood was pulled over Tom's head, secured by a piece of rope loosely tied around his neck, his hands bound behind his back with the other rope, his wrists immediately reacting to the irritating fibers with an angry red rash.

The ride felt longer than it most-likely was. Tom stayed silent, listening and gleaning what he could from the sounds as they rushed by Sandro's open window. At one point, he heard Sandro make a phone call, his replies to the person on the other end, gruff and shushed. There was just enough of the conversation that Tom could understand the gist of it. Cesar knew they were coming, Sandro's plan going exactly as he'd expected.

The sounds of the car passing no longer ricocheted off the buildings of the city and Tom knew they were leaving the confines of Miami proper, but he had no idea where they were going, yet. His ears were filled with the sounds of nothing except an occasional bird call. The Everglades, he assumed, was the final destination, which made sense. Cesar was the kind of man that, if he were to keep a prisoner, it would be somewhere a body could be disposed of easily. The area was boggy, wet, and filled with hungry animals that would make quick work of anything left for them. He shuddered at the thought.

When the car stopped and the engine turned off, he could hear the sound of cicadas, a constant hum that made him want to plug his ears. "We're here," Sandro said, his voice low. "Now, remember, volunteer to pay Cesar back as a mule." Tom nodded as he felt the door closest to him open.

"What do we have here?" asked another man as he yanked Tom out of the car.

Sandro chuckled. "An offering for Cesar."

Tom was pushed along, forced to keep his footing on the loose gravel only by the fact that he was held up by his bound hands. He only knew he was taken inside by the amount of light filtering through the fabric of the hood. "Sit," Sandro commanded, and Tom complied, bending and hovering until he felt the hard metal of the folding chair behind him. "Cesar will be here in a bit."

There was a din of voices in the distance, their range shortening as they walked closer. Among those, Cesar's thick accent permeated, his command evident as the others hushed. Their feet shuffled inside and Tom could hear strong footsteps against concrete as they approached. At last, the grind of gravel on shoes against the cement stopped and the hood was torn from his head. He squinted at the face in front of his own. "There is no escape," Cesar said, his voice dark as he brought his fist into Tom's gut. "This is pay back." He continued the beating, pummeling Tom's abdomen, blows also buffeting against Tom's jaw, impacting with his cheekbones, leaving him bloodies, bruised and his breathing labored.

Once the beating stopped, he was left alone, with the exception of Sandro, under Cesar's implicit instructions to guard him at all costs.


	22. Chapter 22

Amelia worked furiously to find the money. She wasn't about to let Evie make a mistake that would haunt her for the rest of her life, she just hoped that, when all was said and done, she hadn't given too little too late. Her first call was to Cory and Nick, nearly in tears as she begged what she could of the money from them. Tom's bail had been set at $50,000 and the three of them felt it was nearly an impossible obstacle, but they pledged to do what they could. Their combined efforts netted only $20,000 the first day and time was not on their side.

As the evening on Day One wound down, they congregated at a bar closest to the guys' apartment to drown their worries. While she'd initially told them she needed the money to bail Evie out, Amelia decided to come clean. After the first round of drinks, she admitted, "I really need to get the money for Tom," she sighed, hoping they would understand.

"Evie's booty call?" Nick chuckled. "Why's he in jail?"

She spared him the long-winded explanation, boiling it down to one word: "Chasshole." There really wasn't much else that could be said, they all understood, now, what kind of person Evie's ex had proved to be. In the six months since she'd left him, Chas had become even more of an insufferable asshole. While he professed to wanting her back, he paraded himself around the club scene, flaunting his cash, picking up any woman who was impressed enough with his sizable wallet to leave with him. The owners of the South Beach clubs that he frequented had a love/hate relationship with him. They loved that he flashed his money and backed it up, buying round after round of drinks, hated that he preyed on their regulars, but were loathe to rid themselves of his cash. There were also rumors of what happened to the women later, everything from drinks drugged to date rape to forced abortions, though nothing was ever confirmed. He was rich enough to afford the lifestyle and its repercussions. Amazingly, once one of these issues surfaced, it was efficiently swept under the rug by a team of spitfire lawyers and PR execs hired for their acumen in all measures of damage control. Chas, it seemed, was untouchable. 

While Evie had heard some of the stories, her rejection of her privileged life was enough to buffer her from the more gruesome details. None of her friends felt she needed to know, if only because she'd already formed her own opinion about what kind of man Chas really was, so it was a shock to both Nick and Cory when Amelia finally revealed the plans for the wedding. "It's tomorrow night," she said. "We can't let it happen."

Nick agreed. "I think if she goes through with it, we'll see her in a casket in less than a year." He was more solemn than any of them had seen him before. 

"How do you plan on stopping it?" Cory asked. His usually jovial angel face was drawn in a series of concerned creases. "If we try anything, I'm sure Marianne will have us forcefully ejected."

"I know," Amelia groaned. "But Evie couldn't see any other way to help him out of it. Chas was able to wrestle control of her own finances away from her."

They both gave her a confused look. "How?" Nick asked.

Amelia shrugged. "I'm guessing it all boils down to his lawyers. His father has them in droves and doesn't hesitate to protect his family with them. My bet is that he got them to say she abandoned the townhouse and wasn't fit mentally to make decisions on her own." 

The men nodded. Not one of them doubted that it was a tactic Chas would have exploited, especially considering Evie's mental state in the aftermath of discovering his affair. She'd been totally withdrawn, depressed, unable to sufficiently care for herself. The abyss she'd fallen into was deeper than anyone could imagine and, now, Chas was making it into a prison.

The third round of drinks came and the trio sat in silence, nursing their drinks and searching in the bottom of their glasses for anything that would help. There was no brainstorming, nothing any of them could think of to remedy the sordid situation of their closest friend until Nick looked up and announced, "Carla's."

Amelia and Cory immediately turned their attention to him and, in tandem, replied, "What?"

Nick smiled, his excitement at his own suggestion evident in the twinkle of his eyes. "Tom's got friends at Carla's, right?" he asked. Once they nodded, he continued. "I'm sure we could get some of them to pitch in."

Cory smirked, his face scrunching in an almost painful pinch. "Nicky, I love you, but people who work at strip clubs don't generally do so because they have money to spare."

Nick's face fell. "I just thought..." he sighed, his voice trailing off as he resumed his drink.

"It's actually not a bad idea," Amelia added with a shrug. "I mean, maybe the owner could help. Evie said she's good people." She pulled her cell phone out and looked up the phone number, writing it on a napkin with a open she fished from her purse before calling. 

Vanessa answered after the second ring. Amelia could hear the music in the background and nearly had to shout so Vanessa could hear her. She explained the situation, the same abbreviated version she'd told the guys. Her fingers and toes were crossed in the hope that even this small beacon of hope would pay off and let out a visible sigh of relief when Vanessa said, "Absolutely, I will help." 

They met Vanessa after hours at Carla's and she was joined by Frank and a couple of the other men that Amelia recognized, but had never actually met. "Thank you so much," she gushed as she approached the group. 

"No problem," Vanessa answered. "Tom is a well-loved, albeit newer, member of our family and we all hate that he's been put into this position." The men around her nodded in agreement, their voices rumbling with affirmation. 

Their money was pooled and together they managed to get the entire amount that was needed to bail Tom out, plus some extra, just in case. Amelia figured it might be helpful in case there happened to be any processing fees and Vanessa agreed, though neither of them were experienced in bailing anyone out of jail.

The next morning, Amelia, Nick and Cory woke up early, Amelia having spent the night in their guest room. They made their way to DCJ and were standing in front of the bail bond office when it opened, their hands shaking in nervous anticipation. The clerk who passed them looked at the three of them with a combination of disdain and pity, her own apathy affected by the nature of her job. It seemed like she took as long as she possibly could to unlock the gate and enter her secured enclosure before giving them a flat, "Can I help you?"

Amelia stepped up, Nick and Cory flanking her on either side. "I need to post bail for Tom Hiddleston," she said, her voice muffled by the security glass.

The clerk typed in a few things and stared at her computer monitor in disgust. "Is that his full name?" she asked.

"Ummm," Amelia hesitated, "I don't know his middle name. Maybe Thomas Hiddleston?"

There was a moment of tenseness, the only sounds being the clicking of the computer keyboard as the clerk checked for him again. "He's already been released," she finally announced. "Yesterday, in fact."

"Who posted his bail?" Nick asked as Amelia's jaw dropped. 

"It says here the charges were dismissed and he's been released," she repeated, her voice full of irritation. "That's all I can tell you."

Amelia was reeling. "Does it say where he went?"

"I have his last known address, but I can't give it to you unless you're family or legal representation," the clerk snipped.


	23. Chapter 23

After his initial beating, Cesar regarded Tom with kid gloves, his opinion changed once he heard Tom's proposal. Mule seemed like a fitting end to the cocky kid turned thief, an apt way to pay back the money he'd stolen and an example made so others would see what could happen were they to rip off the kingpin. He'd had Tom's wounds, most of them superficial but no less painful, tended and dressed and let him go, with Sandro as guard, of course. 

Tom felt a strange sense of foreboding as he returned to his apartment. The lateness of the evening had cooled from the temperate humidity of the day to a dull warmth that emanated from sidewalk and structure alike. He shivered, though it wasn't because of the temperature. Something felt completely off, like everything in his field of vision had shifted slightly to the left, just millimeters, but enough to make it askew. Once he opened the door, he knew why. Cesar and his men had trashed it on their previous visit, perhaps in a vain attempt to find the cash that no longer existed. Where, once, his home was friendly, inviting, comfortable despite its shabbiness, it was now cold and loveless, nothing there meant anything to him. He pulled a duffle bag from the pile of refuse that was his belongings and proceeded to stuff it full of what clothing he could find. "I'll have to find somewhere to stay," he told Sandro. "I can sleep here tonight, but I can't after this." His upbringing normalized a transitory life for him, made the transition from stable to uncertain easier, usually. This time, he felt less like he was beginning anew and more like a feather in the wind.

"My place is off-limits," Sandro answered. He wanted to mourn for Tom, but he couldn't. His part of the job was contingent on his ability to separate himself. "Have you got anywhere you can go?"

"I think so," Tom answered. He didn't want to try to stay at Evie's room. Even if she wasn't there, he didn't want to endanger her any further. "I think my boss might have somewhere." He cleaned off the detritus on the sofa by pushing it unceremoniously onto the floor. "You can have the sofa," he offered.

Sandro shook his head. "I'll take the floor," he replied. "I'm sure the sofa will feel better on those bruises."

"Thanks, man," Tom said as he settled in. He was exhausted enough, both from his beating as well as the ordeal at DCJ.

He woke when the dawn was new, the silence of the neighborhood punctuated only by the sound of a bird in the tree outside his open window. Tom was surprised to see that Sandro was gone, hoping it didn't mean that he'd rethought about the arrangement. He climbed off the sofa and stretched, his muscles aching more than ever. The clothing he'd been able to find laid on the arm of the sofa and he pulled these on. After having spent the time in the orange jumpsuit, it felt almost otherworldly to be wearing something like jeans and a t-shirt. He felt as though he'd forgotten a part of himself at the jail. 

Just as Tom was ready to leave, Sandro came back, appearing at the door with one of the Cuban sandwiches, cut in half, and two paper cups of coffee. "I don't know about you, but I could use some food," he grinned.

Tom shook his head. As hungry as he was, as much as he could feel the empty knot in the pit of his stomach and hear the growls, the thought of food repulsed him. "I'll just take a coffee, please," he answered.

"Suit yourself," Sandro shrugged.

It was the nerves that got to him. Tom remembered feeling the same nerves before he'd had to dance the first time, though the stakes now were much higher. "So, I'm to meet this contact at the marina at noon?" he asked.

Sandro nodded. "Yeah," he added with his mouth full of food. "You've got the case with the cash in it, it's all a matter of dropping it in the right place and watching for the switch." It all seemed so cut and dry when he said it. 

At some point during his ordeal Tom lost his phone. "Do you mind if I go to the club, first?" He knew Vanessa would be preparing for the night, but that it would be fairly early and none of the other men would be there. The less people he knew and talked to, the safer his friends would be, he figured.

"Keep it short," Sandro answered. 

Sandro drove, his beat up black Ford Explorer blending in with the other cars that cruised from Little Havana into South Beach, the worker bees that slogged their days catering to the tourists and the people that were just there to party. Their short ride was silent, each man contemplating the actions he would take, hoping they wouldn't be his last. They'd already worked out the plan, as well as a secondary, just in case. Neither made Tom any more comfortable with the prospect, but he needed to do what he could to help take down Cesar.

The closer they got to Carla's the more Tom regretted not eating anything. The coffee he'd drunk unsettled him and was an upsetting reminder in his belly that he was hungry. He gritted his jaw as he watched out the window - he couldn't help but imagine what silent struggles each of the people they passed was going through. Though he'd never been one to judge quickly, he knew the value of the soul, now. Evie taught him that.

Tom's eyes widened as they pulled into Carla's back lot and he spied Amelia, Nick and Cory making their way to the door. "Let me out," he nearly shouted, his hand on the door handle and the door half open before Sandro pulled to a stop.

"What the hell," Sandro exclaimed as Tom hopped out.

"Amelia! Nick! Cory!" Tom screamed as he ran towards them. His long legs closed the gap within seconds and he was enclosed in the warmth of their friendly embraces.

"Tom, you look like Hell," Amelia winced as she withdrew. "How did you get out?" 

His smile faded into serious and gruff. "It's a long story," he said. "I can't explain it right now."

"Evie sent us to bail you out." Amelia looked away from him, hoping he didn't catch the sullen look in her eyes.

"Evie," Tom whispered under his breath. "Where is she? How is she?"

"She's getting married to Chasshole," Cory blurted to the disdain of everyone else. "Sorry," he shrugged.

Concerned, Tom's attention wavered between Cory, Nick and Amelia. "She... she can't be..." he said, his voice feeling small as it fell into the pit of his heart.

Amelia set her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "She's doing it for you. It was the only way she could raise your bail." She glanced down at her bag that still held the cashier's check. "Which, we didn't need, apparently."

Sandro approached the group. "Happy time's over, gang," he announced, unaware of what transpired. Turning his attention solely to Tom, he said, "C'mon, we've got work to do."

Tom felt helpless. He wanted to take Cesar down and he needed to find Evie, but he knew he couldn't do both. He looked to her friends for guidance, but there was none, just a dedicated silence that befell them all. The spectre of losing Evie hung over all of them. "Sandro," Tom groaned, "We can't put this off, can we?"

Shaking his head, Sandro answered, "I don't think so." Just as the last word passed his lips, his cell phone rang. He held it up and looked at the caller ID. "Excuse me," he said as he walked around the corner. He was gone only a few seconds before returning with a look of triumph. "Ask and you shall receive," he said with a smile. "Seems our contact is running late as well. It's been moved to later this afternoon. Four PM."

"Same place?" He watched as Sandro nodded, then asked his friends, "When's this all supposed to happen?"

Amelia took a deep breath. "Tonight, five o'clock," she answered. "She's at her mother's, but I doubt you'll be able to get there. Marianne's got it secured better than Fort Knox." Her eyes narrowed in on Tom's. "I might be able to get in, though."

He smiled. "Is there any way you can at least stall her?"

"I can try." She wasn't sure what Tom had in mind, but anything to keep Evie from marrying Chas was worth it. "Do you want me to tell her we didn't need the money?"

Tom shook his head. "Not yet," he replied. "I'd rather play it close to the cuff. If Marianne knows I'm out, there's no way any of us will see Evie ever again." Everyone nodded solemnly. They knew he was right.

After the trio left, he stepped through the back door of the club. In the cool dark, it felt like he'd lived another life there, that it was so far in his past that he was a different person. Vanessa grinned when she saw him. "I'm so glad you're back!" she exclaimed as she embraced him, but she heard him grunt in pain and released him, finally taking a good look at him. "My God, you look you've been through the ringer."

He smirked and his hand held his side, fingers carefully massaging his bruised rib cage. "Yeah," he replied, "I believe I have."

"I'm sorry, but I'm pretty sure we're gonna need to let those wounds heal before you can dance," she explained.

Tom took a deep breath. "I figured." He wasn't sure how he should broach the subject, but he also knew that Sandro was just outside the door, waiting impatiently, maybe pacing in the gravel. "Listen, Van, I'm in trouble and I need somewhere to stay, so I can lay low. Have you got anywhere?"

"I've got a warehouse with a loft," she answered after a moment. "I wanted to use it to expand, eventually, maybe open a dance club. It's not much, now, but it's yours if you need it." She wrote down the address and took a key from the key ring in her pocket. "It's not anything to do with this Evie nonsense, is it?"

"No." He stuck the key and the paper into his pocket. "It's worse than that." Her eyebrow went up with inquisition, but he didn't want to elaborate. Instead, he backed away, ready to step through the door and leave with Sandro. With a wave of his hand, he said, "Thanks, Van. I owe you." He left without waiting for any more of a response.

Sandro looked impatient as Tom emerged from the dark confines of the club into the humid Miami daylight. He was looking at his watch and pacing, as Tom imagined he would be. "We've got to get going," he growled. "You've got to get wired."

"Wired?" The reality of the operation didn't sink in until that moment. "I didn't know you were going to wire me."

"No, not me," Sandro answered. "You've got to go into the department." He explained the process to Tom, that as part of his cover, he wouldn't be going with, rather another officer from the local precinct would take him in, upon the pretense of questioning, and fit him. "Once you are out, I'll come get you."

Once the ball was rolling, Tom saw why Sandro was beginning to get nervous. The process at the precinct took hours to get through. Not only was he fitted with a wire, but he was briefed as to what to expect from the officers on scene as well as instructed on the proper operation of the equipment. Though he proved to be astute in learning what they need him to learn, by the time he was released, his mind was swimming.

It was nearing evening when Tom was finally released. He stepped out to see the skies had turned dusky in his absence and the sidewalks were bustling, though instead of the window-shoppers that proliferated during the daylight hours, the evening was prime time for dinner dates and party participants, all in varying states of dress. 

Sandro was standing on the corner across the street from the precinct smoking a cigarette and eyeing Tom. His back was leaned against the brick of the building behind him, but he stood up and took a step forward as Tom approached. "You ready?" he asked.

Tom nodded. "As I'll ever be," he answered. 

They got into Sandro's car and, as they pulled into traffic, Tom could see a van and another sedan pull out from an alley behind them. These, he knew, were the tails. They had the equipment to hear everything and the team of specialists that would swoop in as soon as the deal was complete.

It was a long half hour to get from the precinct to the marina, enough time that Tom began to have second thoughts. He knew he couldn't pull out of the operation, desperate to or not. Once Sandro parked, Tom got out, pulling a small duffel bag from the back seat and tucking it under his arm. He gave Sandro a nervous glance before gulping a breath and walking casually towards the rendezvous point. He walked down to the closest dock and read the names on the backs of the boats. Most of them were luxury yachts with names like "High Hopes" and "Money Ahoy," but the one he needed was a small skiff, barely worthy of being moored with such prestigious rigs. It stood out like a sore thumb. Once he found it, he chuckled at the name - "Carry On." It was to the left of this skiff, next to a piling and inside the cracked body of a buoy that he was instructed to leave the bag. He struggled with it for a moment, the bulk being almost too hulking for the opening, but he was able to force it in with a little effort. 

After the bag was stowed, he was to climb aboard the skiff and wait. 

A few minutes later, another man clad in a white t-shirt and jeans appeared at the head of the dock, his booted feet clomping down the ramp. He had a sly look about him, aware of his surroundings. He spied Tom and smiled, but it lacked warmth. His smile was razor sharp, meant to instill fear - he was bent on intimidation. He walked with purpose towards the buoy and greeted Tom as he leaned down to retrieve the duffle bag. "Good evening."

Tom attempted to return the smile, but felt self- conscious as he sneered, so he clamped his lips together instead. He watched as the man expertly removed the bag, then climbed into the skiff. "It's all there," he managed to say.

"Good," the man answered. "Mr. St. Charles will be pleased." He set the bag down by his feet as he sat. "Now, about your end, I don't have it yet."

"But...but..." Tom stuttered, "I need to have it to take back to my people."

"I'm sure Cesar will understand." The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Mr. St. Charles requests your attendance before you get the merchandise."

Tom's breath caught in his chest as he realized it meant he would be leaving not with Sandro, not under the safety of police protection, but floundering on his own, completely out of his element. "Cesar has a keeper with me," he managed to say.

The man said nothing. Instead, he pulled a length of rope from under the seat of the boat and roughly tied Tom's hands to the metal cleats behind him. He grunted as he pulled the final knot tight. "Your keeper can find us," he finally said. 

Tom was stunned silent, frozen in place as the man started the outboard motor, unmoored the skiff and began guiding it away from the dock. "Can you tell me where you're taking me?" he asked, his voice betraying his new found nerves.

"Not far," the man replied. "Mr. St. Charles is at the Country Club, in his private suite."

With a last glance at the marina as it began to get further away, Tom could only hope Sandro's team heard.


	24. Chapter 24

Evie fretted herself to sleep. She hadn't heard from Amelia since sending her on the mission to rescue Tom and her stomach was tied into sickening knots. In her mind, she made the sensible decision- sacrificing her own well-being to save Tom from the horrors of a prison sentence- but in her heart, she was doubtful. She wasn't even sure if she'd ever see him again, but at least in her dreams she could stay the night in his arms. Her dreams, this way, were filled with the bliss her physical life was lacking, enough so that she was loathe to wake up when the dawn appeared and the rising sun filled her room with light.

On her wedding day, she dawdled more than usual, taking her time in waking, preferring the imaginary comfort of Tom's arms to the brutal reality that she was to spend the night fighting of Chas' advances. She may have surrendered her freedom, but she vowed not to surrender herself. It wasn't until her mother came stomping up the stairs in anger to drag her out of bed that she bothered getting up. By then, the worry she felt at not having heard from her friend was on the verge of turning into a miasma of apathy that sat in her gut like cold soup.

"It's your wedding day," her mother said, her voice more cheerful than Evie could ever remember. "You should be excited!"

"I can't be happy about losing my freedom," Evie returned, her face sour, her voice dripping with venom. "You can't make me enjoy it."

Marianne regarded her daughter and huffed in frustration. "Well, I expect you'll warm up to the idea. Chas is quite the catch. You're lucky to be marrying him." She crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the floor impatiently while she waited for Evie to climb out of bed. "I should tell you, I spoke with your friend Amelia this morning and she agreed to be your Maid of Honor. You should be happy about that, at least."

At the mention of her name, Evie's ears perked up. "Amelia," she gasped, "You spoke to Amelia?" She wanted to ask if Amelia had mentioned Tom, but she knew Amelia never would, not knowing what her mother's endgame was. "Did she tell you anything?"

"About what?" her mother asked. She drew a suspicious eyebrow as she leaned closer to Evie. "Was she supposed to?"

Evie shook her head. "No," she replied, "I just haven't heard from her for a while and I wanted to see if she'd talked to Nick and Cory." A slight breath of relief escaped from her lips. She'd managed to save herself, but she knew that her mother was too careful not to catch anything she might let spill in the future. "I'd like them to be there."

"Well," Marianne huffed, "I didn't have their information, so they didn't get an invitation." She smacked her lips in disdain as she went to the closet and pulled a dress out. "You can wear this or the time being. Your dress is at the couturier's and you'll be needed there for a final fitting around two. Until then, I've arranged a spa appointment for both you and Amelia. You'll get hair and nails done as well."

"All this before two?" Evie sighed. She began to regret giving in, but the thought of Tom immediately overcame her exhaustion with her mother. "Will you be at the spa as well?"

Her mother shook her head. "There's entirely too much I need to do before this wedding. I couldn't hire a planner on such short notice, so I've had to do it all on my own." She began to exit the room, but turned around at the last moment and tapped on her watch. "You've got exactly half an hour before the car leaves for the spa."

Evie nodded in acknowledgement. "Alright." She waited until Marianne was completely out of the room and the door latched before undressing and going into the bathroom for a quick shower. The heat of the water soothed her muscles, but did very little to dull the headache that stabbed behind her eyes with needling pain. She imagined it was from stress, that it went with the nauseous feeling in her gut, that the fatigue she felt was all a product of her nerves. You have every reason to feel stressed out, she told herself.

Once out of the shower, she opened a bottle of pain reliever that sat on the counter and popped two of the pills into her mouth, dry swallowing them before they could begin to taste bitter on her tongue. She eschewed the dress her mother picked out - another one that didn't fit her style at all - and picked out a cream-colored button-up shirt and a pair of khakis. Her mother would just have to deal with her desire to continue to be herself, even though she was surrendering so much of her life, already. She finished the ensemble with a pair of brown sandals, pulled her hair into a messy bun and headed out of her room to go downstairs.

Due to time constraints, her breakfast consisted of a croissant and a handful of grapes from the bowl on the kitchen counter, washed down with a glass of chilled orange juice. By the time she was finished, Amelia arrived and her mother shuffled the two of them out of the penthouse to the waiting car before they wasted any more time. As they got in the car, Evie let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God she's not coming with us."

"That bad?" Amelia asked. She tried not to let the worry show. Her friend, in the past week, had changed before her eyes. Where before she was a vivacious, energetic woman, now she was sullen, her eyes sunken and dull from lack of sleep, her lips pursed by disappointment. Evie looked like she'd been so beaten down emotionally that she was a husk of herself. 

Evie took a deep breath. "She's been insufferable ever since she brought me here," she replied. "My mother has been pressuring me to reconcile with Chas ever since he screwed Selena," she spat Selena's name like it was a bug on her tongue. "Now that I've agreed to the wedding, she won't let me alone... about anything."

Amelia wrapped her arms around Evie. "Things will get better," she comforted. 

"How?" The look on Evie's face was desperation and heartbreak. "I only see them getting worse. I'm sure Chas won't take no for an answer on our wedding night and... I'm afraid of what he'll do."

"Tom is out, he knows," Amelia said. She tried to gauge her friend's reaction, but Evie revealed nothing. "I told him you were doing this for him."

The dam broke and Evie's tears spilled out hot down her cheeks. "I may never see him again," she sobbed. "My heart is breaking. I want him to save me, but he can't. There's no way. Chas won't sign the papers until we've signed the wedding certificate." She wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. A world without love, without Tom, was no world at all. "I want to die."

"No, you don't," Amelia replied. She was used to being the strong one and, now, it came in handy. "You said you'd file for an annulment right after, right?" Evie nodded, so she continued, "I'm sure Tom will wait for you." She wanted to tell Evie about Tom's release, that they didn't need the bail, all to spare her friend the anguish she was going through, but she'd sworn to Tom she wouldn't. Now, she regretted making that promise. "He loves you."

"I know," Evie sniffled. "But, if he's out, where is he? Why hasn't he tried to contact me?" Her weepy eyes made her features seem that much smaller. 

Amelia shook her head. "Maybe he can't." She couldn't stand to see her friend suffer. "Listen," she said, "Tom... he got released before we bailed him out." She damned herself for breaking her word. "You don't have to marry Chas."

"What?" Evie replied in disbelief. "At this point, I almost feel obligated to. If I don't I'll never hear the end of it. My father's money is gone." 

"Shit." Amelia winced. "And your mother expects you to give up love for money?"

Evie collapsed against the back of the seat. "I want Tom," she sighed. "How is he?"

"He looked like Hell, Evie," Amelia reasoned as she looked out the window. "He said he was in trouble and I think it's bad. really bad." When she looked up, Evie was rifling through her purse. "What are you doing?"

"My cell phone," Evie answered. "I can't find it. I need to call him." She looked wild-eyed as she dumped everything out on the seat between them. "Goddamnit! I bet my mother took it." She dissolved into tears once again, her voice breaking as she said, "I can't even talk to him."

Amelia felt motherly towards her, now. Evie was breaking, shattering into pieces before her eyes and she could do nothing but try to hold her together long enough, whenever that happened to be. She held her, shushing her through the cries, whispering, "It'll get better, I promise." It was another promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

By the time they arrived at the spa, Evie was a complete mess, but the afternoon of pampering was one of her mother's plans she wouldn't reject. Though she mourned, as she was massaged, she melted into an interrupted nap, her mind coherent, her body malleable. She woke up long enough to change positions to receive her facial, then slept again as her eyes were covered in raw cucumbers. As she was roused to get her hair and nails done, she felt refreshed, but still weighted down. 

They left the spa just in time for Evie to make her dress-fitting. As she and Amelia got out of the car, she saw that her mother had arrived ahead of time and was conversing animatedly with the couturier, her hands flapping wildly as she explained something to the baffled woman. "Hello, Mother," Evie said as she entered the shoppe. 

Marianne hurried to give her daughter a cordial embrace and an air kiss next to her cheek. "Evangeline, that spa did you a world of good," she smiled. "And Amelia, you look marvelous."

"Thanks," Amelia replied, keeping herself one step behind Evie. She leaned close and whispered, "I've got your back."

Evie nodded, her head moving just slightly enough that Amelia saw, but her mother remained oblivious. "Is that the dress?" In front of the three-way mirror was an ivory chiffon nightmare. It was definitely her mother's taste, with it's garish lace-covered cut outs on the top of the bodice and on the back, a train that was fanned across the floor. She smacked her lips in distaste.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" her mother gushed. "You'll look so ravishing in it, Chas will have a hard time keeping his hands off of you." She shuffled towards the garment and fingered it's delicate lace.

"Mother," Evie sighed, "I can't do it. I just... I can't."

"Evangeline," her mother scolded, "You can and you will. Now we've all gone through the expense to have this wedding and you know what this means to me." She let some crocodile tears leak from the corners of her eyes and dabbed at them with her knuckle. 

Amelia had enough. "What about what Evie wants?" she asked as she strode up to Marianne. "Do you know what this means to her? She's in love and it sure isn't with Chasshole." She got into Marianne's face and stood nose to nose with her. 

Marianne backed up nearly knocking over the mannequin that held the dress. "You are not a part of this conversation," she glowered. "And that man she claims she loves is a nobody." She turned her attention to Evie's defeated form. "I'll have you know I did a background check on that man and found out what he really does for a living. I had no idea you associated with such... such... trash."

Evie joined Amelia in front of her mother. It was one thing to coerce her own daughter, another to insult the man she loved. "Tom is not trash," she yelled. "He's a better man than Chas will ever be. He's a better person than you will ever be."

She was stunned into silence when Marianne's hand struck across her cheek, leaving a red mark in its wake. "How dare you," she said as she narrowed her eyes at her daughter. She grabbed Evie's arm and held it tightly. "You will marry Chas, whether you like it or not or so help me, I'll..." she sputtered.

"You'll what?" Amelia asked, angered. "What will you do? Ruin her life? You're already doing that."

With a huff, Marianne screamed, "To hell with the dress. It can look like absolute shit on you for all I care." She almost yanked Evie off her feet as she pulled her to the door. "Amelia, consider yourself uninvited," she growled as they reached the door. 

The driver saw them coming and was silent as he held the door open for them, turning a blind eye as Marianne shoved her daughter into the back seat and then climbed in after. With no emotion shown, he closed the door after them and proceeded to get into the driver's seat and drive away.

Amelia seethed. She knew Evie's situation was bad, but she didn't know how bad. As she apologized and left the dress shop, she hoped she could find someone, anyone to help her friend before it was too late.


	25. Chapter 25

The ride was long, Evie knew that much, but she didn't care to look out the windows, much less ask her mother where they were going. She only knew she wanted to stay silent and relish the few moments of peace she had left before the rest of her life was turned upside down. There would be no escaping the nightmare, no matter how much she wished for a knight in shining armor, no choice left but to go along with it. She felt utterly helpless.

Marianne didn't bother with her daughter, her feeling that Evie was sulking magnified by the silent treatment she got and, when her first few questions and admonitions went unanswered, she stopped talking. Instead, she concentrated on the seating arrangements and last-minute details with the catering.

When they finally arrived at their destination, Evie heard her mother ask the driver to drop them off around back. She was uninterested where they were. For her, it didn't matter how opulent the setting, it was the seventh circle of Hell. The driver helped her from the back seat of the car and she followed Marianne into the building, staring at her feet the entire time. It didn't matter where she went, the sidewalk was the one constant - they all looked the same. At least, if her world was going to be as dull and gray as she pictured, she might as well get used to something similar. The sidewalk, dull, gray, silent, stone, abused by the feet that tread upon it without so much as a though about what they were doing. She was the sidewalk.

Once she stepped over the threshold of the building, her view changed to a dark burgundy carpet with a gold-colored diamond pattern carved into it. It was plush, pretty, still subject to some of the same abuses the pavement outside endured. "Watch where you're going," Marianne reprimanded when Evie nearly ran into a serving cart.

She was jolted from her footway observations to peer down a corridor. "Where are we?" she asked. It wasn't that she suddenly began to care about the location, but the fact that the hallway they stood in looked eerily like her hotel, a fact that unnerved her, even though she knew it was below Marianne's standards. She'd never let her daughter marry in a place like that.

"Oh," Marianne smiled, "I see you've finally decided to join the wedding party." There was a tinge of sarcasm in her voice, enough to incite Evie to roll her eyes. "You are getting married in none other than the most coveted place in Miami - Deering Bay."

Deering Bay was an exclusive resort, one of the most prestigious in Miami. It made sense that her wedding would be there, that Chas and his family would insist on it. It boasted a hotel and amenities, all in Spanish-style stucco with red tile roofs. The grounds were surrounded on three sides by a golf course and flanked on the fourth by the bay, which was complete with its own private marina. It was because of this, every room had a gorgeous, view, though the best was reserved for the upper floor ballroom, which faced out towards the tropical blue waters.

Evie followed her mother to the bank of elevators, stoic as scores of strangers and hotel workers passed her with smiles on their faces. As they boarded the elevator, she caught a glimpse of Chas and his parents as they commanded their way across the lobby. They looked with expectation at the elevator, silently willing Marianne to keep it open so they could board, but she called out, "You can't see the bride before the wedding!" as she pushed the "Close Doors" button, sealing herself, Evie and two strangers, a couple on their honeymoon, into the car.

"Oh, you're getting married?" the woman asked. She seemed giddy with her own excitement. "Congratulations!" She attempted to give Evie a hug, but Evie turned away, so she shrugged and went back to embracing her new husband. They exited the elevator on the next floor.

"That wasn't very cordial of you," Marianne said after they'd left. "It's rather rude to ignore well-wishes."

Evie glared. "I don't think this marriage deserves well-wishes," she growled. "I feel like a third-world bride." She crossed her arms and retreated to the furthest corner from her mother. 

"You are behaving like an ungrateful brat," Marianne shot back. "Here I've slaved planning this wedding, confirming you to be the wife of the richest, most eligible bachelor in Miami and you thank me with this... this spite."

Her mother's words cut into Evie as surely as any knives and prompted her to fly across the tiny car and slap her mother across the face leaving an angry red hand print on her perfectly made up cheek. "No, this is how I thank you!" she screamed, all her anger and resentment coming out at once. "You don't care about me, you only care about yourself and your social standings. I'm just a pawn in your game."

Marianne held her cheek. "Well, I never," she exclaimed as she narrowed her eyes. "I can see that I am just going to have to treat you like the child you're behavior reflects. It's obvious you're much too impetuous to make healthy decisions for yourself." She grabbed Evie's arm again, holding it like a constrictor coils around its prey. When the doors opened for their floor, she dragged her daughter out and down the hallway. "You will do as you're told."

Evie wanted to give her sass and ask, "Or what?"

Her mother's face was a furious red. "I'll be forced to take drastic measures," she threatened, her words carrying a dark taint that made Evie shudder. She couldn't imagine what her mother meant, but she didn't want to discover it, either.

They made the rest of the journey to their room in silence, Marianne in anger, Evie in fear. Once they were inside, the door was shut and Marianne began her tirade once again. "The problem is your father spoiled you," she yelled. "You've always been an ungrateful brat and willful and stubborn, to boot." She shoved Evie onto the bed with a fury that Evie had only last seen when she was a child and had unwittingly taken a pair of scissors to one of her mother's prized designer dresses. "I firmly believe you have always wanted to ruin me. It's because of you I had to marry, because of you I lost out on a good part of my life when I could have been a jet-setting model. Instead, I was stuck with a body transformed to the point where no one wanted it, not even your father, all my dreams dashed and stuck here!" 

The wedding dress wasn't there, but its delivery interrupted Marianne's diatribe with a sharp knock on the door by the delivery driver. Exasperated, she threw the door open and screamed, "What?"

"Sorry, Ma'am," The man at the door replied, his meek stance shrinking behind the garment bag he held. "I've been asked to bring your dress." 

Marianne glared at him for a moment before reaching out and grabbing it from him, her rough grip wrinkling the top of the bag before she threw it forcefully at Evie and yelling, "Put it on now!" She turned her attention back to the now-shaking man in the doorway. "Can you please send someone to do alterations immediately. I'm not sure that dress will fit properly and for the price I paid, it better look like she was poured into it."

"Yes, Ma'am," he stuttered. He gave Evie a sympathetic smile and turned tail down the hallway as Marianne slammed the door shut. 

She turned her vitriol back on her daughter, who still sat, stunned, on the bed. "What are you waiting for?" she screamed. "Get the dress on, now!"

Evie slid from the bed and picked up the rumples garment bag from the end of it. The bathroom was next to her mother and she shuddered at the prospect of getting anywhere near her, but she had no choice. Silently, she slunk past Marianne and escaped into the tiny room, closing and locking the door before collapsing against it, sliding to the floor as tears slid down her cheek. Once her sobs subsided enough for her to talk, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Amelia. Her friend answered right away. "Meels," Evie whispered, "I need help. I can't do this. My mother is insane."

Without any extra thought, Amelia asked, "Where are you?"

"Deering Bay," Evie replied. "Room 748." She wanted to say more, but her mother's insistent pounding on the door prevented it. Instead, she whispered, "Hurry," and hung up.

"Evangeline, you had better be in that dress and out here by the count of ten or I'm breaking the door down!" Marianne shouted through the wood that separated them. 

Taking a deep breath, Evie grasped the edge of the sink basin and pulled herself up. "I'll be out in a moment," she answered, her voice devoid of all emotion. She felt like she'd drained it all, every bit of sadness, each ounce of happiness, through the tears shed and she was now empty and numb. It was her resignation - she was in a stasis of herself and would remain a cold, unfeeling creature the rest of her life. Her shirt was discarded on the floor in a flash and she unzipped the garment bag, pulled the gaudy dress off the hanger and slid it over her head before kicking her shoes off, reaching underneath the full skirt and peeling her jeans off. The dress was a near-perfect fit. She had no doubt her mother would find fault with it.

Marianne's hand was in mid-air and ready to beat on the door again when Evie emerged. Her hand dropped to her side and a smile spread across her face. "You look like a dream," she gushed. Taking stock of the rest of the dress she added, "Of course, it could do with a little hem and a tuck." Her demeanor went straight from Mommie Dearest to Mother of the Year with one submissive action on Evie's part.

Though she'd never given it much thought as a child, Evie began to realize her mother had a pattern. She'd never thought of Marianne as particularly sociopathic, but, the more narcissism she showed, the more Evie saw it. Everything her mother did had a purpose that directed right back to her own selfish needs. She used charm often enough to get it, especially in social situations. The world saw one face, Evie another. The side her mother showed in private was not persuasive, it was abusive, it was mean. "Mother," Evie said, her voice dripping with saccharine, "I think it's perfectly fine. Besides, i'll only be wearing it for a short time and I'm sure no one will notice. Isn't it customary for the bride to change after the reception any way?" She was concocting a plan that, if she could pull it off, meant that she'd never have to stay with Chas, never have to deal with her mother again, and regain the freedom she was desperate to have.

"Well, perhaps you're correct," Marianne agreed. "It does look gorgeous on you as it is." She turned and opened the door. "Now that you're dressed, " she said as she left the room, "I'm going to check on the ballroom. I trust you'll stay put."

Evie nodded and watched her mother's satisfied smirk appear. Marianne loved to be in the right and Evie knew that the more in control she felt, the more freedom she'd give. It was just enough to set the plan in motion.

Shortly after Marianne exited, there was another knock on the door. "Room service," said the voice on the other side. Evie recognized it as Amelia.

She rushed to the door and opened it, pulling her friend in as she shut and locked the door. "Amelia," she cried, "Thank you so much!" She locked Amelia into an embrace.

"Well," Amelia said once she was released, "That dress does look gorgeous on you." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're not going through with it, are you?"

Nodding, Evie pursed her lips. "I have to," she said. "I have no choice."

"But you don't need the money." Amelia looked worried.

Evie took a deep breath. "I know how I can get it, though." She detailed what she planned. There would be a wedding, just to assuage Marianne and Chas' family, but, after Chas signed her money to her but before signing the actual paperwork, she would excuse herself to use the restroom, where Amelia would be waiting, and, together, they would escape.

"Even I have to admit, that's a great plan," Amelia agreed.

"Now we just have to wait," Amelia sighed.


	26. Chapter 26

Tom was hustled out of the boat by his captor and pushed unceremoniously up the gangplank of the dock they'd landed on. "You best be cooperative," the man growled in his ear as they headed for the back of the building. "Mr. St. Charles dislikes resistance."

"I've been instructed to stay silent and lie low," Tom answered. 

They were at what looked like a large resort, though Tom didn't recognize it. "What is this place," he asked.

"Deering Bay Yacht and Country Club," the man answered.

Tom was amazed. He'd never been anywhere like it and it halfway intimidated him. The other half was intrigued and he visualized lying in one of the hammocks on the private verandas they passed, drinking some tropical drink and soaking the sun up. He was shaken from his walking daydream by a jostling shove through the back door of the building. "Hey, man," he protested. "You've just got to ask."

The man let out a harrumph. "Come on, then," he said, his voice low and gruff as he moved in front of Tom, grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him through what appeared to be a pantry and into the main kitchen. They were surrounded by chefs and assistants, all in white coats and toque blanche, whirlwinding around them as they prepped food that smelled equally delicious as it did stomach-turning. Tom could only imagine that it was for a wedding, a suspicion confirmed once they passed a three-tiered wedding cake decorated in white icing, pale pink roses and complete with a kissing bride and groom on top. 

His mind went immediately to Evie. She was getting married. And not to him. It made his heart ache and his gut wrench, worse than any of the nerves from the task on-hand did. "Excuse me," he said as he slowed down outside the swinging stainless-steel kitchen doors. "I need to find the restroom."

"Nerves getting to you?" the man chuckled. He scanned the service hallway for a bathroom, then pointed it out. "Alright, but make it quick. Mr. St. Charles doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Tom nodded and hurried towards the door, pushing through it and making it into one of the stalls just in time to retch into the toilet. He hadn't eaten, so nothing came up. Instead, he was left with the empty ache of heartbreak as it churned his insides more. If anything, the brief respite in the solitude of the small, tiled room afforded him the opportunity to get his head straight. He needed to get out of the situation alive and if he was thinking of his lost love, he was doubtful he would. Taking a few deep breaths, he managed to calm himself down and stem the tide of revulsion that swirled in his belly. Closing his eyes, he focused on the task at hand and, instead of using her for distraction, he used Evie's image to propel him on. If he survived, maybe, just maybe, he would see her again.

Once he left the bathroom sanctuary, Tom was a changed man. He used his full height to his advantage, towering over his captor in a feat of confidence. "Take me to him," he instructed.

The man seemed slightly intimidated. "This way," he said as he led Tom to the service elevator at the end of the hallway. He seemed shaken by the transformation, unnerved, and he kept glancing back at Tom over his shoulder as they walked. He remained silent as they rode up the elevator to the penthouse suites, his eyes riveted on Tom the entire time. Once the elevator stopped, he finally spoke again. "Some ground rules for Mr. St. Charles. First, you speak only when spoken to. Second, you pay up front and Mr. St. Charles will have the product brought to you at a specified location."

"That doesn't seem shady at all," Tom quipped.

His sarcasm garnered him a threatening glare. "You're new," he said. "We need to make sure you're being honest and we aren't getting schlepped."

"Noted." Tom followed him to the corridor on the left. On his right, there was one set of double doors, the plaque upon which said "Ballroom." They were slightly ajar and he was able to peer inside. He did a double take, convinced his mind was playing tricks on him and that he'd spied Evie's mother haranguing the staff. On second glance, she was gone and he chalked it up to wishful thinking. 

"Would you get your ass up here, boy," the man barked, snapping Tom back into the present moment and the task at hand. He was already halfway down the hallway and was motioning furiously for Tom to approach him. 

Tom nodded and sped up to meet him. "Sorry, I just thought I saw someone I knew," he explained. It sounded lame, he knew it, he saw that the man thought it was a weak excuse as well.

"Like you know anyone who would be in the grand ballroom here," the man scoffed.

There was no use in explaining further, Tom thought. Even if he really saw Evie's mother in the ballroom, what could he have done. The woman detested him - not because he wasn't cordial and courteous. It had nothing to do with his personality and everything to do with his lot in life, and for that, he couldn't find any reason to like her any more than she liked him. In his mind, the only good thing she could possibly have done in life was having Evie.

The man knocked on the door, a series of deliberate raps that were in a specific pattern that Tom didn't catch, though he recognized a familiar ratatatat. "Who's there," answered a muffled voice from the other side.

"Marcus," the man answered. "I've got Cesar's man."

The door handle rattled as it was opened and a suspicious eye peered out at them. "He clean?"

Marcus nodded. "I've checked him, he's clean."

Tom followed him as the door opened and found himself in a room every bit as opulent as the outward appearance of the resort held promise. It was all in neutrals, whites and tans, the only splash of color being the paintings on the walls - abstract pieces in aquas and oranges. There was a wall of windows interrupted in the middle by a set of french doors that led out onto a private balcony that overlooked the sprawling, manicured golf course with a view of the city on the horizon.

A man was standing at the windows with his back to them, clad in a black suit, formal with tails, which Tom thought was odd, but didn't comment on. "Cesar sent you?" he asked.

Marcus nodded and Tom answered in his best American accent, hoping it would make him less obvious. "He did." He hoped to see what this Mr. St. Charles looked like, but the man didn't turn around. "I've got the money in this bag," he said as he set it down by his feet. "Cesar sends his regards." He couldn't help but feel like he was reenacting a scene from Scarface, that the man would turnaround and he'd come face to face with Tony Montana. The idea made him chuckle, but he choked it down and feigned a cough.

"Very good," came the reply. "Leave the money with the man at the door. It will be counted and you will find your merchandise outside the grand ballroom in an hour. It will be left under the table with the guest book with you."

"Alright." Tom was hoping Sandro's team heard all of it, that they would be there soon to get the men and, in return, Cesar.

"Come precisely in one hour," Mr. St. Charles repeated. "I'm warning you. Any earlier or any later and there will be consequences."

A cold chill ran down Tom's spine. He didn't want to believe it, but, until he saw the man's face, he denied the fact that the voice sounded familiar. It was something in the cool, calculated way he spoke, the timbre that alluded to a violence just below the surface. His eyes widened at the realization and he glanced sideways at Marcus, who sternly shook his head. 

Tom and Marcus were ushered out of the room before Tom could confirm his suspicions. "Now, we wait," Marcus said as he led Tom back to the service elevator. 

"I think I know him." Tom's voice came out more as a low breath. "Is that Chas?"

"I only know him as Mr. St. Charles," Marcus hissed. The topic was obviously forbidden. "We'll wait in the bar until it's time."


	27. Chapter 27

Marianne returned to the room a few minutes after Amelia left. She had no inkling of what was about to transpire. Evie was sitting on the bed when she entered, clad in the bridal gown, veil tucked perfectly into the pin curls the hairstylist had created, delicate waves framing her face. It was a sight that overwhelmed her with emotion. Clasping her hands over her mouth, she tearfully exclaimed, "You look so beautiful."

It was a dance between the two of them, this abuse and adoration. Evie knew it well and, while she hated the abuse her mother heaped on her in the name of social standings, she relished the adoration. To her, it was a glimpse at what she could have had, were their relationship normal. In a way, it made the hurt sting worse, yet altogether more bearable. "Thank you, Mother," she blushed. She stood from her seat on the bed and did a little twirl.

"Are you nervous?" her mother asked.

Evie nodded. "A little."

"Well, let's not keep them waiting," Marianne smiled. She opened the door and held it for Evie, picking up her train as she passed by. "Don't worry," she coddled. "It will be wonderful, you'll see."

The thankful smile that graced Evie's face had nothing to do with her mother's words. Instead, it was in deference to the fact that she knew she'd be free. 

She followed in silence towards the elevators and up to the top floor. There was a restroom next to the ballroom with a salon, meant to be the room for brides to prepare themselves and this is where Evie and Marianne went. It was also where Amelia crouched in the stall on the end that had an "Out of Order" sign hung on it. Evie sauntered to the end of the row of stalls and poked her foot under the door, indicating to Amelia that she was there.

After a cursory check of make-up and hair, slipping on the impossibly-high champagne colored heels Marianne pulled out of a shoe box she'd brought, and a quick sip of white wine to calm her nerves, Evie was ready. She stared at herself in the mirror as she waited for Marianne to leave and barely recognized herself. Gone was the timid and admittedly naive woman who, a little less than a year ago, would have jumped at the chance to marry Chas. She'd been replaced by someone decidedly less dewy-eyed, more cynical and altogether more scarred than she imagined she'd ever be. The woman who stared back had more depth than that debutante, more strength than the socialite she'd been raised as and, Evie decided, she liked this woman more.

"Now, Evangeline," her mother said, snapping Evie from her self-assessment, "I'm going to my seat. Merrill will be the one to escort you down the aisle." She saw Evie roll her eyes and scowled. "It's a favor to me," she explained. "If your father was here, he'd be walking with you, but, since he's not, I figured your future father-in-law should have the honor."

"Fine," Evie replied. Anything to coddle her mother, to get some alone time before the ceremony. 

Marianne smiled. "Good girl." She gave Evie an air kiss next to her cheek and left the room.

"Oh, thank God," Evie groaned once the door was shut. "I was afraid she'd never leave me by myself, again."

Amelia climbed down from her perch and emerged from the stall. "I've got your back," she whispered as she reached the spot where Evie stood. "And you look beautiful. Too bad it's for a wedding you don't want."

"Yeah." Evie let out a long sigh. "I should peek and see if they're ready." She walked to the door and opened it just a crack. There was an usher standing by the door and she hailed him. "Are they ready?" she asked.

He blinked at her, his expression blank, for a moment, then answered, "Oh, almost. The guests are all seated, now." Instead of resuming his post, he ducked through the doors of the ballroom and disappeared, leaving the hallway empty.

Just as Evie was about to close the doors, she glimpsed Chas as he emerged from the Mens' room on the other side of the hallway. he didn't notice her watching, but she could see him slip a package under the cloth of the guest book table. He stood up and adjusted his tuxedo jacket just as a group of stragglers exited the elevators and headed his way. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen," he smiled. "Come in, have a seat. The wedding will be starting in a moment." Chas followed the group inside and a moment later, his father exited.

Evie closed the door. "Let the games begin," she quipped as she heard his knuckle rap against the wood. She swung the door open with a wide smile. "Thank you so much for doing this, Merrill," she gushed. "You're the next best thing to my own father." She looped her arm through his and stepped out, letting the door slam shut. 

"You are a vision, Evie," Merrill answered. "Chas is lucky to have you."

Not as lucky as he thinks, Evie thought. "I'm lucky to have him," she returned. Just keep your fake smile on, she coached as he guided her to the doors of the ballroom. 

A quick glance behind her and she saw some men milling in the hallway. She thought she heard one of them whisper, "Wait until after the wedding, man. At least let him have that." She wondered if they were talking about Chas, but when she turned back around, they were gone.

Chas' father opened the door and let her step through. Even Evie had to admit the ballroom was gorgeous. It had one full wall of windows that faced out to the brilliant blue waters and, in front of it the alter stood. Everything was decorated in pink roses and baby's breath, obviously her mother's aesthetic. Crowds of Miami socialites inhabited the folding chairs on either side of a green carpeted aisle, their eyes watching her with expectation as they stood ceremoniously. And up to the right of the alter stood Chas, flanked by his goons, all in black tuxedos and green ties. She could barely look at him, much less smile at him, but, somehow, she found it in her to give him a smirk. To the right was a procession of girls she remembered from school but had not kept in contact with, all dressed in green satin that matched the mens' ties. It felt trite, but, then again, everything her mother did had that feeling about it.

There was music playing, some symphony she'd heard before but couldn't place, that added to the surreal feeling of the entire event. Merrill walked her down the aisle, their feet stepping in tandem to the beat established by the music, their movement watched by throngs of tear-filled eyes. Some of the guests held tissues to their noses and they all wore smiles.

Evie almost felt bad for the ruse. Almost. She knew it was in the interest of self-preservation. Everything she did was careful and deliberate, from the smile she kept during the procession to the way she let Chas grasp her hand once she arrived at the alter.

"God, you look gorgeous," Chas purred in her ear before the minister began.

She managed a meek, "Thank you. You look nice, too." The fact was, even paying him a return compliment like that made her stomach churn. She couldn't wait for the ceremony to be over.

The minister waited for the guests to sit. "Who gives this woman to this man?" he asked.

Marianne stood and sniffled. "I do," she said, her voice full of tears. She gave a happy smile to Evie and Chas and sat down.

With her back to the guests and her eyes focused on the bible the minister held, and with the rush of blood in her mind as she concentrated on breathing and getting through the whole thing, she neither saw nor heard the ballroom doors open.

Tom had arrived at the designated time and was surprised to be informed that Chas had not yet been arrested. The officers opted to wait until after the wedding, thinking they were affording him at least a modicum of dignity. In reality, they couldn't be further from the truth. He let the narcotics team take care of the drugs, knowing they had Chas' prints all over them and proceeded to open the doors to the ballroom. 

"If there is anyone here who objects to this union," the minister was saying, "Let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

In the silence that followed, Tom stepped forward and began walking towards the alter. "I do," he announced. "She loves me, not him."

Evie turned around and gasped, "Tom!" Her heart leaped as she shook Chas' hand from her own and flew to Tom, smothering him with kisses. "I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered as she nuzzled his ear.

"You!" Chas roared, fury turning him into a red, raging beast. He glared at Tom and Evie and stomped towards them as he reached into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. "She's mine," he seethed when he reached them. 

There was a sharp pain as Evie was yanked backwards by Chas' grip on her hair, then cold steel pressed against her temple. "Chas, don't," she whimpered. 

"You'll always be mine," he growled, low enough so only Evie heard him over the confused murmuring of the guests.

Tom took a step forward. "Chas, this is no way..." he tried to reason.

"Shut the fuck up!" Chas interrupted. He nodded and was flanked by seven more men, including some of his ushers, all brandishing their own weapons. "I dare you to try something." The guests all dropped to the floor, huddling under their seats in response to the arrival of Chas' guards.

There was a clatter behind Tom as he stood, frozen. He wanted to turn around to see what happened, but he didn't dare, his instinct telling him that any sudden movement and not only was he done for, but so was Evie. 

"Charles St. Charles," a voice called from the back of the crowd. "Put down your weapon." Tom recognized Sandro's voice, even though it was distorted by the bullhorn. "I'll give you until the count of three." 

Chas scoffed as Sandro began counting. Rolling his eyes, he snorted, "You've got nothing on me."

"That's where you're wrong," Tom replied, his voice remaining calm amid the chaos. "They've got the drugs." 

Chas' eyes widened, the sudden realization that Tom was the mule, that he'd been a plant, came crashing down. "Cesar sent me a snitch," he said. 

His guards were occupied, their attention diverted by the SWAT team in the back of the room, and Tom saw his chance. "Cesar had nothing to do with it," he said as he swung his hand upright, knocking the pistol from Evie's temple. Chas squeezed the trigger as his hand moved. There was a deafening blast as it shot and then a scream as the wayward bullet ricocheted off one of the ballroom's stone columns and into the back of a man's head. "Now they've got you for murder and attempted murder," Tom said, his voice taunting Chas, daring him to do something else stupid. 

The shot prompted a hail of gunfire. Tom was able to wrestle Evie from Chas' grip and pushed her to the floor, covering her with his own body. "No, don't," she protested, but her voice was muffled by the carpet and the horrified screams of guests as they saw blood and tried to escape. 

"Evie," Tom said as he protected her. "If anything happens to me, I want you to know that I love you."

She could hear only the sounds of gunfire, the screams of the crowd, the thuds of footfalls around her, the sickening sound of bullets ripping through clothing and hitting flesh. She worried each time she felt Tom move that he'd been hit, but each time, she'd feel his hand caress her arm - an indication that he was alright.

The din of bullets stopped abruptly, mirroring how it started. The room was full of smoke and smelled peppery like gunpowder, metallic like blood. Tom waited until the pollution cleared and no longer stung his eyes before moving. He could feel Evie breathing beneath him, her own breath labored as he pressed against her. He rolled to the side of her and sat up. "Is it safe?" she asked.

"I think so," he coughed.

Evie sat up next to him to survey the damage. Folding chairs were upturned everywhere. The gossamer-covered alter was leaning precariously at an angle, it's tulle ripped, the roses that garnered now spattered with flecks of red. It appeared that most of the guests made it out before the heavy fire started - the few that didn't sat on the floor as they did, dazed and attempting to come to terms with the violence they'd witnessed. Some were hit, but in the arm or the leg, nothing serious or life-threatening. These were tended to by the Samaritans of the crowd who were ripping strips of fabric of their own clothing to dress the wounds until proper medical attention arrived. 

And then Evie saw her.

Marianne's Jimmy Choos stuck out from under a pile of chairs, her legs at odd angles, reminding Evie of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz who'd been killed by Dorothy's house. She didn't move when Evie called her name and Evie realized as she tried to rouse her mother that there was a scarlet puddle pooling out from under the chairs. "I think my mother's been hurt," she told Tom. She was surprised at the lack of emotion she showed. It was just a statement.

Tom nodded and stood to move the chairs. He grasped them one at a time and threw them in a pile. Once Marianne was fully uncovered, he leaned down and felt for a pulse. Drawn and solemn, he shook his head at Evie. "I'm sorry, she's gone," he said as he arrived back at her side and helped her up.

As she stood, Evie couldn't help but giggle at her mind's own analogy. Her mother really was the Wicked Witch. She knew it was inappropriate, given the circumstances, but, as she leaned against Tom for support, her giggles turned into a gale of laughter. She was sure they drew attention to her, but she didn't care. There was no mourning Marianne. Instead, Evie was filled with the elation of freedom. As much as she'd loved her mother, she despised her.

Tom wrapped his arms around her, helping her masque the laughter as tears, nodding at on-lookers as they shot looks of pity.

Chas was nowhere to be seen as they picked their way through the destruction and out of the ballroom. Both Tom and Evie wondered if he'd managed to escape, or if he, like Marianne, was somewhere in the ballroom buried under the debris. Once they were through the double doors, they saw him. He was up against the wall, his face covered in blood splatter, his arms wrenched behind him as he was handcuffed by Sandro.

"Thanks, man," Sandro nodded as Tom passed them. "We've got enough to take Cesar down."

"What the Hell?" Chas demanded.

Tom only smiled as he pulled the wire and handed it to one of the other officers that was waiting. "You need me for anything else?" he asked Sandro.

"Not until trial," Sandro answered.

They began to pass the restroom where Amelia hid and, until that moment, Evie almost forgot she was there. "Hang on," she told Tom as she let go of his hand and pushed through the door. 

"Is that you?" Amelia asked once the door shut.

"Meels," Evie said, confirming her presence, "I'm so glad you were in here."

Amelia emerged from her hiding place. "Why?" she wondered until she took a good look at her friend. Evie's dress was torn, dirty, splattered. "What the hell happened?"

"It's a long story," Evie sighed. "Can you give us a lift?"

"Sure," Amelia replied as the two of them went back out into the ballroom melee and joined Tom. "Where to?"

"Anywhere but here."


	28. Chapter 28

Tom rolled over and watched Evie as she cuddled into him, pulling his arm around her like a blanket as a shiver went through her body. Her dark fringes of eyelashes brushed just over her cheeks, making her look like an angel, his angel, as she slept. She seemed so delicate, yet he knew there was a strength there that was absent the first time they'd been together. It seemed like ages ago. 

Even the events of the day before seemed like shadows left in the night, a dark nightmare from which they'd emerged. 

Amelia had driven them to Vanessa's warehouse, sure that, were there any of Chas' goons left, Tom and Evie would be safe there. Once they'd unlocked the door to the side of the building, secured the premises as much as they could, found the rickety freight elevator and taken it up to the loft, they all felt a weight lifted from them. Though it didn't seem like much, they felt more secure there than they did anywhere else.

The warehouse itself didn't seem like much from the outside - a hulking brick and mortar structure in the industrial area of Miami - nor on the inside - bare, brick walls, the outside's counterpart with a dirty concrete floor, a pile of forgotten machinery in the corner, and tall, dust-covered windows that offered an obstructed view of another warehouse, even the elevator with its utilitarian rusted metal grate and dingy, worn buttons left much to be desired for aesthetics, but, once they got to the upper loft, they saw the appeal. Tom wasn't sure if Vanessa or the former owner had outfitted it, but the upper loft space had been taken from what was once a foreman's office to living quarters that rivaled any New York loft apartment. The brick walls were scrubbed clean and hung with metal sculptures, the windows, wide and spotless with a view of the harbor. The rough, wood floor was sanded and finished, stained to a dark oak that matched the frame around the door and the stairs up to what he presumed was roof access, in the center of the room there was a jewel-toned Turkish-style rug. There was a sofa situated under one of the windows, flanked by industrial-style lamps. Crates topped with glass created a coffee table. A kitchen was tucked into the corner closest to them and separated from the living room by a set of wooden storage shelves piled with dishes and dry goods. A small cafe table stood in the center of it, perfect for morning coffee. On the other side, there was a door with a frosted glass panel. Tom opened it to reveal a white-tiled bathroom with a white porcelain pedestal sink and an old claw-foot tub complete with a hulking shower-head that was affixed to the ceiling over the top of it. "Vanessa didn't mention how wonderful this place was," he marveled. "She said it was basic."

"If this is basic, I'd love to see what her place looks like," Amelia quipped.

In the far right corner of the loft, adjacent to the living room, there was an area separated by a collection of tri-fold silk screens painted with chrysanthemums of various colors against a black background. Curious as to what was behind them, Evie hurried towards them and pulled one back to reveal a queen sized bed with a deep red velvet duvet covering it and a high stack of pillows with matching silk shams. On either side of the bed were low curio chests displaying old books and topped with lamps that matched the ones in the living room. On the wall near the end of the bed was a large oak chiffarobe. "It's gorgeous!" she squealed.

Once they'd traversed the stairs to reveal a roof garden, Amelia took her leave. "Call me if you need anything," she instructed before leaving the lovers to their own devices.

Tom and Evie sat among the trees and bushes in concrete planters and watched the stars, content with each others' company. She laid her head on his shoulder and whispered, "Tom?"

"Yes, Darling?" he answered, his voice soft, low, velvet to ears that thought they'd never hear it again. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "Forgive me?" 

"For what?" In his mind, she was perfect, without transgression and entirely infallible.

Evie sat straight and gazed at him, gauging him, and when she was certain he wasn't only humoring her, replied. "I was going to marry Chas," she sighed. "Even though I knew it was the wrong decision, a dumb decision. I was going to go through with it." A tear welled in the corner of her eye. "I'm sorry."

He reached and cupped her cheek, caressing her with his thumb. "You thought it would help me, right?" She nodded. He smiled, "Then there's nothing to forgive."

She closed her eyes as he leaned in and kissed her- just a soft brush of lips against lips. "I...I..." she hesitated before opening her eyes and falling into the blue pools of his. "I love you."

Tom's hear soared. He'd never been happier than he was at that moment. "Darling," he gushed as he gathered her into his arms and kissed her again, more heat and more passion enveloped them than ever before.

They descended the stairs, hands clasped, stopping every other step to share a kiss, certain that once they reached the bed, they'd shed their inhibitions and share their bodies with each other. Their bodies had other plans. Once they'd disrobed and laid down with arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled, forehead to forehead, they both fell asleep. 

At some time during the night, Tom was roused from his sleep by Evie whimpering in hers. She was on her side with her back to him, her arms outstretched in defense. "No, Chas, no," she cried.

"Shhhh," Tom whispered as he molded himself around her and ran his fingers through her hair to comfort her. "It's alright, Love. You're here with me." He kissed the top of her head and shushed her again.

She let out a small sigh, half combined with a hum as she settled into him. One of her hands wove between the fingers oh his hand of the arm that was rested under her neck. The other hand grasped the wrist of his hand that was tangled in her hair and pulled it down to her navel. His light touch, the fingers dancing over her skin, gave her goosebumps and began to stoke the slow burning fire inside that sleep had stifled. "This is perfect," she murmured, guiding his hand further downward. She began to wake more and ground backwards into him, feeling him harden against her.

He nuzzled behind her ear, taking her cues, kissing lightly along the back of her neck and trailing to her shoulders. "I have to admit," he mumbled against her skin, "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you."

"Impetuous boy," Evie chuckled. "I was much too cautious to fall for you right away." She rolled onto her back and leaned her head towards him, concentrating on his lips on hers, his touch, the fever and contentment that swelled through her. This was Heaven and she wanted to never leave. "I'm so happy I came around, eventually."

Tom grinned as he moved above her, kissing her as she giggled, tickling her with his lips as he brushed them against her and moved down her body. He relished the taste of her skin, the softness of it, amazed that someone so perfect, so ethereal was his. In the moonlight that streamed through the windows of the loft, she was ghostly and gorgeous, her mewls of satisfaction like the cries of a dove, music to his ears.

Where their first night together had been a feral joining of flesh, a wild, untamed bid of attraction and pheromones driven by passion and lust and fraught with animal instinct, this was its diametric opposite. They took their time exploring one another, feeding upon their missed opportunities and each sating their desire to know the other's body and soul. Once they'd finally joined together, each movement was deliberate, each kiss ardent, each touch or caress a stanza, speaking volumes without words. Time itself lost all meaning until they fell asleep as the morning began, their bodies wrapped together, drenched in a sheen of sweat, bathed in the pinks of the rising sun.

He couldn't have asked for more, he was here with her, together and as much as he wanted to lie in bed with her and watch her sleep, Tom needed to relieve himself. He unwound himself from Evie, slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom. The clock on the wall over the door said it was noon. He stretched as he opened the bathroom door and stepped in. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't afraid. Cesar had no idea about Vanessa, no idea about this place. It felt safe. He heard Evie call for him and answered, "I'm in here, Darling."

"What time is it?" she asked. "I feel like we slept in."

"We did," he laughed. "It's just after noon."

Evie climbed from the bed and wrapped herself in the sheet, still self-conscious in the daylight. She could hear Tom in the bathroom, listening to him whistle as he went about his business and smiled to herself. As she approached the door, which he'd left cracked open, she said, "Oh, God, you're a morning person, aren't you?"

Tom jumped, then turned around. "Trying to give me a heart attack?" he joked, his eyebrow raised, as he pushed the door open and invited her in. 

"I doubt after all we've been through, a little scare like that would do it," she answered as he gathered her into his arms, letting the sheet she was swathed in fall to their feet in a pool of silk as she wrapped her arms around his as well.

He buried his face in her hair, reveling in the smell of her. "I suppose you're right," he replied, his voice muffled by her. "And to answer your question, yes, but I'm an anytime person, really."

She leaned back and looked up at him. "I believe that." As she kicked the door shut with her foot, she smiled and added, "And if you want to know, I'm more of a night owl."

"I guessed that," he chuckled.

Evie reached into the tub and turned the water on, her attention drawn to the wide shower head as she turned the shower on. It fell like rain. She reached in and felt the temperature. "I think this calls for a shower," she said as she let go of him and climbed in, pulling the curtain around the tub on its rounded bar.

"I'll join you," Tom purred as he followed her.

The water was hot, not quite scalding, but enough to leave red trails on their skin as it dripped down. Tom didn't notice. Instead, he was enthralled by Evie as she stood under the fall, her eyes closed and dripping with water, her hands smoothing back her hair as it got soaked, her breasts responding to the slight nip in the air outside the immediate vicinity of the spray. His hunger for her was immediately renewed. Once she leaned out from the falling water and opened her eyes, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her again. Her soft skin was slippery with soap and she slithered from his arms with a giggle. "I thought we were supposed to wash in the shower," she giggled as he tried to grasp her.

"Generally," he answered with a wink, "But you look so gorgeous dripping wet..."

Evie ducked around him, making him get into the spray with a sputter. "Careful there, lover boy. Most accidents are in the home and most of those are in the shower," she warned, suppressing a smirk.

Tom caught her again and smashed his lips into hers with a dark groan. She didn't play coy, she didn't fight, she melted into him.

As they kissed, there was a knock on the door to the loft that stopped them cold. Tom was wary. He let go of Evie and climbed from the tub. Grabbing a towel from the rack on the wall, he whispered, "Stay here and lock the door after I leave."

She nodded, a pang of fear piercing her heart. The loft was such a haven, she'd nearly forgotten they were in danger, that there were forces stronger than they were that might have come calling. "Be careful," she replied as he closed the door.

Getting out of the tub and retrieving her own towel, Evie turned the lock on the door, hoping that the water she'd left running was loud enough to mask its click. She hunched down between the tub and the toilet, shivering and straining to listen to what was happening outside.

From the moment Tom exited the bathroom, he began to regret his decision. He didn't want to leave Evie, certain that the next time he did they'd be separated forever. A lump grew in his throat as he advanced on the main door. He looked to his right and spied a coat rack and an umbrella stand with an umbrella in it. Assessing his options, he decided on the umbrella. Better weapon than nothing, he thought as he grasped the handle and pulled it from its stand.

The knocking grew more insistent, its clatter ringing through the high ceilings of the loft. "Who's there?" Tom asked once he got to the door. He leaned his ear on the wood and listened.

"It's Vanessa," a voice said. "Open up, quick!"

Tom unlocked the door and cracked it open, peering out to the elevator landing. Vanessa stood there, her eyes darting to every corner with guarded suspicion. He could see no one else with her. "Come in," he said as he swung the door the rest of the way.

"Lock the door," Vanessa instructed as she rushed at him. "Lock it now."

"What's going on?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

Vanessa was out of sorts, more than he'd ever seen her at the club. "I think I've been infiltrated," she admitted. "Maybe even followed."

"What?" He wanted to know more, but when she began to speak, he held his hand up. "I'm sorry, Van," he apologized, "Let me get Evie." Knocking on the bathroom door, he called into Evie, "It's Vanessa, Darling. Come on out."

"You're being cautious," Vanessa observed as she heard the water turn off and the lock click out of place. Her eyes got wide as she realized his state of undress. "Did I interrupt you?" she asked.

Tom shook his head. "Just a shower," he smiled.

Evie emerged from the bathroom wrapped in her towel and stood next to Tom, leaning her head into him and wrapping her arm around him. "Hi, Vanessa," she greeted. "Nice to see you, again."

Vanessa nodded with a curt smile at her, but dispensed with the proprietary social graces and cut to the chase. "The guy I hired to replace you," she explained to Tom, "Works for Cesar, I think."

Tom pursed his lips. He regretted telling Vanessa he needed to leave, that he was quitting. "I'm sorry, Van," he said. "If I hadn't left..."

"Don't you be sorry," she shot back at him, interrupting his apology. "I'm the one that hired him. Anyhow," she continued, "He over heard me talking to Amelia on the phone and one minute he was behind me at the bar, the next he was gone."

"And you think he's after me?"

"I know he is. When I followed him outside, I saw him get into a black sedan like the one you described to me and speed away. I came here right away."


	29. Chapter 29

It was one of those moments that passed between them, the kind that changes the course of lives forever. "What do we do?" Evie asked. 

"We run," Tom answered.

They'd dressed in their same old grungy clothing, looking like odd bums as they were, Tom in a dirty, blood-stained t-shirt and jeans, Evie in the wedding dress she'd ripped to shreds after they left the wedding, equally blood-stained, so dingy it was no longer ivory but a sad gray streaked with gunpowder. There was no time to stop and gather new things, no time to notify friends of their intent. No time.

Vanessa managed to get them safely from the warehouse and dropped them off near Evie's hotel, but they all knew that any further was not safe for her. "I'm sorry," she said as they got out of her car. 

"Don't be sorry," Tom told her. "You've been nothing but helpful." Evie agreed.

As she drove away from them, they began to walk, keeping to the shadows, suspicious of anyone who gave them a second glance, sure that Cesar had his goons looking for them. Tom had now screwed him out of money not once, but twice. It was enough to warrant his head on a platter, that whoever succeeded was sure to win Cesar's favor. The thought sent a shiver down Tom's spine and made him that much more determined not to get caught. He wasn't risking his life and he sure as hell wasn't risking Evie's. 

A form moved in the shadows ahead of them, and Tom felt Evie grasp his hand tighter and cower behind him. "Tommm," she whined, her voice barely audible. 

"It's alright," he whispered, reassuring her as the man in front of them turned around. "It's Sandro." He felt her relax, but she still kept behind him. She was afraid, even though she knew Tom had called Sandro in desperation as Vanessa drove them away from the warehouse.

The two of them caught up with Sandro and he guided them through an inconspicuous door that was on the alley side of the building that towered over them. He said nothing until the door was securely shut. "This is the safe house," he explained as he led them down a long, dark corridor. "The basement was set up specifically for witness protection." He turned to them and his look was one of warning. "Since you aren't officially under department protection, I can only let you stay here for a few nights. Long enough to get your affairs in order."

Tom nodded, his face drawn. "What would you suggest?" he asked. "I mean, you've worked with Cesar. What should we do?"

"Leave town, leave the country," Sandro replied. "Cesar is brutal, you know that. Now that he's lost kin and money, you're at the top of his list."

"What about you?"

Sandro shook his head. "He has no idea and I intend to keep it that way." It was his subtle way of telling Tom that Cesar still trusted him, that he'd done what he had to do to keep himself in the Boss' good favors just long enough to make the impending arrest stick.

"Can you help us?" Evie asked, overcoming her apprehension. "We don't have anything that shows our identity, we have no money, at least not here." She kept her distance, still using Tom as a shield, but stood tall and straight.

There was no answer until they reached the basement door. "This is reinforced steel," Sandro said as he unlocked it. "Bulletproof." He waved for them to enter the room, then caught Evie by the arm. "Have you got money otherwise?" he asked.

She nodded. "Money from my mother, a trust fund from my father, or what's left of it, money Chas owed me from the sale of my townhouse. You can take whatever you need."

"I'll need power of attorney for that," he answered. "Can you do that?"

"Yes," she said decisively. "Anything."

Sandro let out a low grumble from his throat. A begrudging agreement. "I'll see what I can do," he said as he left. "Lock the door behind me and don't unlock it until I return."

They were caught in a single room, walls painted goldenrod, carpet an uncomfortable oatmeal-colored berber, a sleeper sofa against one wall, a table with two chairs in the center, a bathroom created by hospital curtains that contained a toilet, a stand-up shower and a mirror fashioned from a chrome panel on the wall, a single pedestal sink with a tiny counter top, microwave and hot plate. The basement room was not nearly as lush as the warehouse loft had been and Tom regretted it had been compromised. He looked around the room in silence, his mind full of thoughts and not all of them good ones. "I'm sorry, Darling," he finally said as he slumped into an uncomfortable wooden chair next to the table in the center of the room. "I dragged you into this. You don't deserve this kind of life."

Evie regarded him, saw his slouched form, the bruises that were still somewhat fresh that were tracked on his face, the weary-eyed gaze he held on her, and she smiled. Kneeling next to him on the floor, she put her head in his lap. "You didn't drag me into anything," she answered. "If there was anyone to blame, it would be Chas. He's the whole reason for all of this."

"Except, he's not," Tom argued. "If I hadn't taken that money, if I hadn't run..."

She cut him off. "You did it for a noble cause. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be with you."

"And that's the problem," he sighed. "If you didn't want to be with me, you could be home, enjoying your life, enjoying your friends. You've got nothing to do with any of this. In fact, Chas' goons probably told Cesar that you were marrying him and therefor devoid of all blame." He took a deep breath as he guided her up, lifted her chin so she was looking at him. "You could be safe without me."

"What are you saying?" she asked. "Do you want me to leave?" Tears were forming in her eyes as she searched his. She shook her head in denial. "I love you. I don't want to leave."

She began to stand, angling to sit on his lap and he pushed her away. "Evie," he groaned, "I'm no good for you. Your instincts were right on in the beginning and I pushed you to ignore them because I was twitterpated." It hurt him to say it and he knew what he was going to tell her would hurt even more. "We've been fooling ourselves. We can't be together. We're too different."

Evie's tears were cascading down her cheeks. "You're wrong," she sniffled. "My heart tells me you're wrong." She wanted nothing more than for him to take her in his arms and tell her he was kidding, that they really were meant to be together, that they'd be stronger because of the shared trials. "I love you, Tom."

"I love you, too," he returned, "And that's why we can't be together. It would kill me if anything happened to you because of me."

Her tears began to heat to rage, fed by the cold tone he used. She could see the truth in his eyes and it drove the knife into her core that much deeper. "Why do you have to be so fucking chivalrous?" she yelled. "I don't need you to save me!"

Tom bit his lip to keep from showing any emotions. "When Sandro gets here, I want you to go," he said. "Please."

"What if I say no?" She was being childish and impudent and she knew it, but she didn't care. "I have every right to stay, you know."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "If you don't leave, I will," he groaned. "I'll make Sandro take me to Cesar, I'll have it out with him."

Evie stayed silent. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she'd gone to the far corner of the room and was shivering, huddled, her body wracked with tears. It broke his heart to see her that way, but he knew what was best. In his mind, the only way for the scenario to play out ended with him either dead or disappeared, neither of which he wanted her to be a part of.

The hours in the room crawled by, the walls closed in and it felt claustrophobic as they both sat in silence. Tom hunched forward, his elbows on the table, his face on his arms as he tried to sleep. He cast occasional glances at Evie, who'd migrated from her corner to huddle on the sofa, curled in a corner of the green upholstered hulk, looking like she was trying to make herself as small as possible and eventually disappear from his sight. He also caught her looking in his direction, a hopeful cast in her eye for just a moment as she thought he'd changed his mind, followed by the crack of heart break as she realized he hadn't, and then she'd retreat back into herself again and he'd hear her try to hide her newest round of tears. To him, they were two planets in the same solar system - stuck in different orbits, destined to be alone.

When Sandro finally returned, the only reason Tom knew it was night was because of the watch on Sandro's wrist. Tom and Evie were no longer the picture of solidarity, each of them occupying space with an invisible division. "Trouble in paradise?" Sandro joked, a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

Tom gave him a dour look. "Evie will be going home," he said, refusing to meet the other man's eyes.

Sensing something amiss, Sandro looked at Evie, gauging her forlorn appearance, the heartache that covered her like a cloak clear as day. "Are you sure about this?" he asked Tom. "I've brought the papers, everything you both need to get away and Cesar will never find you."

"Can you guarantee that?" Tom asked, his voice dripping with doubt. "Can you guarantee that we'll be safe?" He lifted his eyes up to meet Sandro's. 

Sandro shrugged, "Well, there are no guarantees." He set the armful of clothing and papers he held on the table. "But chances are..."

"Then, she'll be going," Tom interrupted. He directed his voice to Evie, over his shoulder, but refusing to look at her. "Change clothes and leave with Sandro."

Evie unfolded herself from the sofa and approached. She reached out as though daring herself to touch his arm, but withdrew like he was a hot coal, beautiful, brilliant, scorching. Instead, she reached past him and pulled a pair of black sweat pants and a shapeless white t-shirt from the pile. "I can't..." she whispered sadly, only to be rebuffed by Tom turning away from her. Using the clothing as a shield, she held it to her breast and hurried towards the privacy of the makeshift bathroom. Tom flinched as he heard her sobs begin anew from behind the curtain.

"You don't need to do this," Sandro said, keeping his voice low and hoping Evie didn't hear him.

Tom shook his head. "I do," he answered. "I couldn't bear if anything happened to her."

"How do you think she feels about you?" Sandro's question was blunt, but it pierced right through to Tom's heart. 

Tom regrouped, shaking off the bolt of emotion. "She'll live," he replied. "That's the point."

"It's your decision, man," Sandro said, his volume increasing as Evie opened the curtain and walked toward them. He looked at her as she came to stand next to Tom. "Are you ready?"

Evie took a deep breath. "Yeah," she answered. "I think so." She was putting on a brave face and she knew it, but inside, she was afraid. She was scared as hell that she'd never see Tom again, that he'd be lost to her, or worse, that she'd be lost to him. 

As she looped her hand around the crook of Sandro's elbow, she cast a smug look at Tom, trying to fake him into thinking she didn't care. They both knew it was a lie. Sandro opened the door and she panicked, turning her attention back to Tom, yelling, "Tom, no, please!" as Sandro pulled her away. 

Tom was stoic as he stood and followed them, his face cold and emotionless as he closed and locked the door behind them. And then he crumpled against the steel, falling to the floor in a flood of his own tears, nursing the bitter regret that began to overwhelm him as he cursed himself for what he'd done.


	30. Chapter 30

Evie woke up, her head still aching from the tears that she'd shed the night before. She rolled over, hoping it was all one big nightmare, that Tom would be there behind her, lying on his side, watching her as she slept, ready to pull her into his arms and kiss her silly, but he wasn't there. A cold, sharp pang dug into her with the realization that it was all true. He loved her, but it was exactly that love he proclaimed which foisted her out of his life as surely as she'd been shot from a cannon into it. Now, her heart was shredded to ribbons, sliced and diced by so many knives to her soul. 

A cursory glance at the digital clock on the night stand told her she'd slept in, but the light filtering through the heavy curtains told her otherwise. It was low, dull, the kind of light in the morning that hurt her eyes because it was neither bright nor dark. Unless it was overcast. That was the only explanation for it. 

The night after she'd left was a blur. Her arm still hurt from the force of Sandro's grip as he pulled her away, her throat still raw from the screams, yelling Tom's name, hoping he'd change his mind. She remembered Sandro asking her where she wanted to go, whether she wanted to go home. "Home," she'd grunted. "Home is empty." He implied she should go to her mother's home, the sky high penthouse full of bad memories and even worse decor. She knew there was nothing there for her. It was an empty shell that reminded her of exactly the reasons Tom told her to leave. Instead, she chose the cold comfort of her room at the hotel, still held for her by her friends there in their hopes that she'd return to them. Except, this time, she wasn't working for room and board, she paid for it with her own money. It was small consolation. Money meant nothing, love meant everything.

Even in her room, the solace she sought was hard won. The more she thought about Tom's reasons for making her leave the more enraged she got. He'd acted like her mother, acting in what he felt was her own best interests instead of deferring to her own judgment. Perhaps she was better off without him, safer, less privy to Cesar's wrath, but perhaps not. She didn't care. Safety wasn't what she wanted. 

She slid out of bed after lingering longer, closing her eyes and imagining him there, feeling his touch, smelling his skin. It did her no good to dwell on it. There was a stack of documents Sandro had left for her on the dresser and it was to these that she padded across the carpeted floor. The night before, she'd been too distraught to look at them, but in the stark daylight, her curiosity got the best of her and she felt they warranted a look. As she thumbed through them, she saw the Power of Attorney papers they'd spoken of, waiting her signature. These, she ripped up and discarded in the wastebasket, taking out her anger on the defenseless slips of dried pulp. The act was needless, but cathartic all the same. There would be no need for them any longer. No need for her money. No need for Sandro.

"Sandro," she mouthed as she sat down on the end of the bed to think. "Sandro." Something clicked and she picked up the phone. "Amelia," she said when her friend answered, "I need you to come get me." She told her where and hung up before waiting for a response.

When Amelia arrived, she tore through the hotel up to Evie's room at breakneck speed, only to be slightly disappointed by the fact that her friend was not in danger. "You made it sound like your life was hanging in the balance," she scoffed when Evie opened the door.

Amelia's response made Evie laugh, though the sound and feeling of it rung hollow in her chest. "In a way it is," Evie said, her face turning serious in an instant. "I need you to take me to the precinct on 43rd." 

Evie didn't want to say much about what happened, why she was alone at the hotel instead of with Tom in the loft. She sidestepped Amelia's questions with the grace of a ballerina, tiptoeing through what could have been a minefield of emotions as deftly as she could. 

Of course, Amelia was suspicious. One moment, Evie and Tom were together, in love, against the forces of evil like some twisted fairy tale, the next her friend was alone, obviously heartbroken and in utter denial about it. "Will you at least tell me what's going on?" she finally asked, exasperated.

Evie concentrated on the road in front of them, watching as her friend maneuvered the afternoon lunch traffic that crowded the main streets despite the threat of rain. "Men," she grumbled. "Why do they have to be so pig-headed?"

It was not a question that warranted an answer. Amelia knew she was referring to Tom, to Chas, to any other man who'd been in her life, which also included the most amiable ones, Cory and Nick. They, too were stubborn. "It comes with the testosterone," Amelia chuckled. She saw Evie shoot her a cold glare from out of the corner of her eye and made the decision to stay silent the rest of the drive.

Their arrival at the police station was as ignominious as any other arrival, heralded not by the call of justice, but by the weak, joyless announcement of the desk clerk saying, "Officer Mendez, it's for you." She beckoned them to take a seat, any seat, and wait.

Amelia was doubtful, choosing to stand and lean against the dingy wall as her friend perched on a torn Naugahyde chair, leaning away from the miscreants that sat in all the other chairs, handcuffed and stewing in their own misguided ideas of right and wrong.

When Sandro appeared and invited them to his desk, at last, they were both relieved. It was not somewhere either of them relished spending an afternoon. "What can I help you with today, ladies?" he asked as they took seats on the opposite side of his desk.

"It's Tom," Evie sighed. "Is it that bad? I mean, is Cesar gonna kill him if he stays?"

Sandro pursed his lips, folded his hands in front of his chin and settled into a solemn state of thought. He wasn't sure how much he should tell her, whether he should worry her, whether it was unnecessary. Worst of all, he knew where Tom stood. Finally, he nodded. "It's that bad," he answered. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I can't."

"I can't just forget about him and be done with it," she replied, her eyes beginning to fill with tears again. "Is there anything you can do to help me?"

He felt for the woman in front of him, watching with empathy as she wrung her friend's hand, trying to will herself not to cry more. Her heartbreak was evident. "I might have an idea," he said. Her hopeful smile was enough to give it a try. 

***

Tom spent a sleepless night tossing and turning on the sofa, his mind occupied with regrets. He dreamed he was with her, his imagination reliving in slow motion the sight of her in the wedding gown, the look on her face as she realized he'd come to save her, as she ran to him, but in these dreams, she was bloodied, perforated with bullet holes, shot by Chas as she escaped his clutches. He woke from each of these dreams bathed in a cold sweat, his heart racing, his hands reaching to grasp the woman who was not there.

He regretted his decision the moment he'd made it, but he didn't want to see Evie hurt. It was the last thing he wanted, but he could tell his actions did just that. Love was not something that was in the cards, he had to admit to himself. Breaking her heart was the only way to ensure her safety, but, in the process, it broke his, too.

Sandro hadn't returned since leaving with Evie and for that, Tom was grateful, preferring to stew in his misery on his own. He barely had it in himself to shower and change into the clean clothing that sat in a pile on the table, but he dragged himself to it, hoping that at least the hot water would purge the feeling of foreboding that permeated his skin. His muscles were sore from the night spent on the hard sofa and he was thankful the heat massaged out the knots enough to make it bearable. After drying off with the only thin, scratchy towel provided, he grabbed the pile off the table, realizing that Sandro had provided the same clothing for him as he'd provided for Evie. 

As the sweats and t-shirt slid from the faux wood, a manila folder flopped to the floor. Tom leaned down to pick it up. He sat down on the empty wooden chair next to the table and thumbed through it. Inside, Sandro had managed to include not only a means for Tom and Evie's escape, but alternate identities as well. Even he'd been thrown for a loop by Tom's actions. 

Opening the passport Sandro had provided for him, he looked at the photo. It was the same that was on his actual passport, just with a different name. He would be known as "Jonathan Dean Talbot." There was a driver's license tucked into the passport's pages that matched. Sandro must have some great connections to get these in such a hurry, he thought. 

Tom tried to restrain himself from looking at Evie's, but he couldn't bear it. He knew he'd never see her again and the fake documents with her photo would be the only things he had left of her. Taking a deep breath, he opened hers. Her alias was Angela Marie Talbot, assumed to be the wife of Jonathan Talbot. Just looking at the photo was enough to cause the pain in his heart to begin anew. She was smiling, her hair curled in soft tendrils around her face, her eyes sparkling. His Evie. Except she wasn't. He'd given her up and for that, he knew he'd be in misery the rest of his life.

There were also plane tickets in the folder, under their fake names, scheduled to fly out in two days. Sandro had made arrangements for Tom and Evie to fly to New York, then from there to London. It would've been a wonderful trip for anyone, especially for them, and now he'd be making it alone. He had no idea what he'd do once he got there. Mary and Aidan and Daniel were in Germany, still, but he didn't want to endanger them any more than he wanted to endanger Evie.

All he could do was wait for Sandro to give him the all-clear and leave, never to return, into the ignominy of London. He didn't even have an idea of what he'd do when he got there, save possibly bar tending in a pub. He had no money, nowhere to stay. 

For the first time in his life, Tom felt completely alone.


	31. Chapter 31

The two days in the basement were agony. Tom drove himself stir crazy, his mind concocting all sorts of scenarios involving Cesar and Evie and Sandro and himself. When he wasn't up pacing the floor, chewing on his lip and rubbing the freckles on his neck, he was asleep and dreaming. The machinations in his sleep were almost worse than those when he was awake, but he tried to console himself with the fact that then, at least, he was able to feel her with him, smell her perfume as it floated around her, hear her voice. 

He lost track of time and had flashbacks of DCJ, prompting more nightmares, only in those, Sandro was not there to save him. Tom didn't know what was worse, the incarceration or the threat of death from Cesar. Though the basement kept him insulated from the outside world and protected from the looming dangers, it also was, in its own way, a prison. The air inside was stale and humid, acrid with the smell of his sweat, now, though he no longer smelled it. He was acclimated as a prisoner in his own mind.

By the time Sandro came to get him, Tom was beside himself. He'd given up on restful sleep and the dark circles under his eyes reflected that. Personal hygiene was also low on his list and when he answered the door, Sandro gave him a stink face and exclaimed, "You better take a shower and brush your teeth before you leave, man. You reek!" There was nothing that he could do about the three days' worth of scruff that graced his face.

Tom stayed silent and did as he was told, failing to see the humor in the situation, even as Sandro regaled him with a deep belly-laugh. He admitted to himself, at least, that the shower felt good, that cleaning up made him feel at least halfway human, though it did nothing to melt the frozen core of his heart. There was only one cure for that and he knew he'd remain that way forever. He put on a pair of jeans and a blue button-up shirt from the carry-on bag Sandro brought with him, replacing the now sweat-stained clothes he'd been wearing. The new clothes were slightly too big and hung off him at odd angles, but they were at least right in length. "Did you pick these out?" he asked as he stepped out from the bathroom curtain.

"My wife, actually," Sandro answered. "She's got better taste in clothing than I do." He chuckled at himself and waited for Tom to laugh as well. Instead, Tom regarded him for a moment, his face solemn. He'd never thought of Sandro as being married. The man had seemed like an island unto himself - self sufficient, confident, able. 

With a deep breath, Tom finally replied. "You have a wife?" he asked. "What's she like?"

Happy to be drawing Tom out of his own mind, Sandro grinned, "She's wonderful!" He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped the screen on, turned it to Tom and showed him a photo of a beautiful Latina with big, dark eyes, thick, raven-colored hair that curled over her breasts, honey tanned skin and a broad smile with white teeth framed by perfect rosebud lips. "Honestly," Sandro gushed, "I'd be nowhere without my Ana."

"She's beautiful," Tom replied. "You're a lucky man." Of course, the fact that Sandro was a happily married man only exacerbated the emptiness in his heart that was niggling at him. The man put himself in danger every day of his life, especially with his undercover work, yet, here he was, a family man. "How does she take your police work?" he asked.

Sandro shoved his phone back into his pocket. "She'd rather I worked a desk," he answered. "Then again, she's understanding about it. When I'm undercover, she takes the kids to her mother's house, often." He looked like he was about to pull the phone back out to show Tom more photos, then thought better of himself when he saw his dejected look. "Listen man," he said, clapping his hand on Tom's shoulder, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I think you made the right decision. Hell, if Cesar ever caught wind of my true nature, you can bet I'd send my family away."

"But you'd run with them." Tom sighed and looked away. As much as Sandro tried to sympathize with him, to empathize with the loss he'd suffered, he just couldn't. "I'm ready," he said as he picked up the bag of clothing and pocketed the passport and plane tickets. "How'd you get the money to do all this, anyhow? The department have a runaway fund?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," Sandro replied, dropping his lighthearted expression.

Tom knew instantly and froze. "Evie," he said, though his voice was barely more than a whisper. 

Sandro held his hands up. "I'm not saying a thing." He knew the moment he told Tom the truth it was all over. If he knew Evie had paid for his escape, for the new clothes, for the flat in London to which he'd hand over the deed right before he left Tom at the airport, he wouldn't want to leave. It was her last act, she said. One last time she could take care of Tom, help him, be a part of his life. 

In her visit to him at the station, she'd written a check to cover Tom's expenses, and her own, considering she, too, wanted to start over. She signed over the power of attorney to her accountant, allowing him to disburse her funds from the sale of her mother's penthouse and belongings as needed, starting with paying a stipend to Cesar to cover the money Tom owed him. It wasn't guaranteed to get Cesar to rescind his warrant for Tom's head, but it was at least enough to give him a chance to leave. She was still left with a sizable amount of money - her trust fund, the proceeds from her townhouse sale, damages paid immediately to her by Chas when she threatened to sue his family for everything. Evie would be alright.

"Those airline tickets are no good," Sandro said as they left the hideout. When Tom raised his eyebrow in question, Sandro explained, "Word is that Cesar has some familia that works at MIA. I've pulled some strings and gotten you a flight out of Opa-Locka."

"And that's safer?" Tom asked.

Nodding, Sandro pursed his lips. "Much safer. It's private and not in the pockets of Cesar." 

Tom looked down the street as they exited the building, not for his own safety, but just in case Evie happened to be there. He knew if he saw her, he'd break. His will would be too weak to not run to her, smother her with kisses and never let her go. But the sidewalk was empty, devoid of anyone save a couple of businessmen with black umbrellas hoisted over their heads to protect them from the rain that was falling. Tom hadn't even realized it was raining until that moment, distracted as he was by his own thoughts. Perfect, he thought as he followed Sandro to the waiting car at the curb, A dreary, gray day to match how I feel.

The ride to the airport was equally as uneventful. Tom watched the city speed by through tinted glass as Sandro maneuvered the dirty white sedan through the rush hour traffic. It was slow going, but Sandro didn't seem to be worried. "They'll leave once you get there," he assured Tom. "You won't miss your flight." Still, Tom shifted uneasily in his seat, attempting to sit in a way that wouldn't make his long legs cramp. He leaned his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes, stress and fatigue taking their toll on him in the silent interior of the car. As his mind whirled, he couldn't help but wish Sandro would turn some music on, anything to keep him from thinking, anything to break the monotony.

As though he read Tom's mind, Sandro leaned forward and switched the radio on, pushing the button for the local classic rock station. "Is this good for you?" he asked. "This traffic is awful. I'm afraid I'll nod off if we keep crawling like this without some music on."

Tom's eyes snapped open and he looked blearily at the road in front of them. "Yeah, this is good," he answered. "How far away are we?"

"About fifteen minutes away, unless traffic gets any slower." Sandro tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs and began humming along with the tune. "CCR is my favorite," he smiled as he reached forward and turned the volume up.

Nodding, Tom agreed. "They're great." He recognized the melody and listened as the familiar lyrics of "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?" filled the car. Fitting tune, he thought. It feels like the beginning of the storm. Even the windshield wipers swished to the beat.

When they finally reached the airport, the sun was beginning to set, the clouds on the horizon turning golden against the black clouds overhead. Sandro drove into the parking lot and parked the car in front of an administration building. "I'll go in with you," he said as Tom got out. "You don't need a ticket for this one, but they need to know you're alright."

Tom shrugged. He'd never had to deal with a small plane before. All his flights had involved major airlines. He pulled his bag from the back seat and followed Sandro into the office. "Am I flying just to New York tonight, then?" he asked as they approached the desk.

"That's up to your pilot," Sandro answered. "I suppose the weather'll have a lot to do with it, too."

"Can I help you?" a woman asked as she stepped through a door behind the desk.

Sandro smiled and nodded as he pulled his badge out from his jacket pocket. "Hello, Miss," he greeted. "I'm Detective Mendez and this gentleman here is under my protective custody. We've got a flight reserved for him."

"Name, please," she replied as she turned on the computer on the desk.

Sandro cleared his throat and elbowed Tom, motioning for him to take out the passport. "Sorry," Tom said with a sheepish grin. He grabbed the passport from his bag and flipped it open for her. "Jonathan Talbot." In his distraction, he didn't notice that the other passport had fallen out and landed on the floor. 

She typed his name in, followed by a few other things. "Alright, Mr. Talbot," she smiled at him. "You'll be leaving from Hangar 2. Your pilot is Mr. Dempsey." She turned around and grabbed a slip of paper that printed out from the behind her and handed it to Tom. "You'll want to give him this."

"Thank you," Tom nodded as he took the paper from her. Turning his attention to Sandro, he took a deep breath. "Let's do this." He sounded like he was attempting to psyche himself up for the trip and was unconvinced it was the right move. 

They exited the building and followed the signs towards the hangar. The rain began to fall harder and Tom jumped when there was a flash of lightning followed by the rumble of thunder. Sandro chuckled. "Sounds like this is gonna be a bad storm," he observed.

"I just hope my plane's not delayed," Tom replied. "There doesn't look like there's many places to stay here."

Sandro shrugged. "Executive suites across the way, that's about it."

More thunder and lightning and the wind picking up made Tom walk faster. He didn't relish the idea of getting soaked to the bone before boarding a small aircraft and soon his pace picked up so he was running. Glancing over his shoulder, he realized that Sandro was far behind him, still sauntering towards the hangar. "Sorry," Tom yelled, "Do you want me to wait for you?" Sandro waved him on, so he turned and sprinted to the door.

The hangar was an enormous white building with a metal shell, a giant number 2 painted in blue on the side of it. There was a door to Tom's right and he pushed it open when he got close enough, revealing the interior. Inside, the building was painted the color of sand. There were gigantic metal beams holding the whole structure up, a set of rolling doors at the other end that were opened to reveal the drenched cement of the runway. There were only two planes inside, a small prop plane that looked like it was meant more for a day trip, and a Cessna. Tom hoped to God that he was flying in the Cessna.

An older gentleman, wrinkled with white hair, but the stout build of an athlete approached. "Hello,"he greeted, "Are you Jonathan Talbot?"

Tom nodded, thinking about how odd it was that he'd gotten used to his alias so quickly. He held out his hand for the man to shake it. "I am. Pleased to meet you."

The man smiled. "I'm your pilot, Chris Dempsey." He glanced over Tom's shoulder as Sandro entered the building and let go of Tom's hand. "Sandro!" he exclaimed. "You look like a drowned rat."

"It's just water," Sandro excused. "I see you've met your passenger."

"I have." Dempsey clapped Tom on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he said, "I've been flying for years. You're in good hands and I assure you, you'll land in one piece."

Tom sighed. "That's reassuring." He followed the pilot to the plane and climbed in when he opened the door. "Will we be alright flying out in this squall?"

Dempsey climbed in. "It's a piece of cake," he answered. "I can get you to New York tonight and then head out tomorrow morning for London. How's that?"

"Perfect." Tom settled into one of the plush captain's chairs in the middle of the plane, stowed his bag underneath, and fastened his seat belt. He looked up when he saw Sandro board the plane. "I thought you were staying," he said.

Sandro chuckled. "I am, but I thought I'd see you off," he replied. "You're a good man, Tom. Thank you for everything."

"Thank you." Tom gave him a weak smile and held his hand up as Sandro offered his own for a handshake.

The pilot interrupted over his intercom system. "Thank you for flying Air Dempsey. Now, if all non passengers would kindly disembark, we can get a move-on."

Tom laughed for what seemed like the first time in ages. "Enjoying your loudspeaker?" he asked, amused that Dempsey used it, even though he was separated by only a few feet and the cockpit area was open.

"Give an old man a break," he shot back.

Sandro gave one final wave and exited the plane before the pilot closed and locked the door. Tom took a deep breath. There was no turning back. He watched as Dempsey expertly maneuvered the plane through the hangar and out onto the tarmac and into the heart of the storm. Wind and water whipped the fuselage in an angry display followed by another blinding flash and a bang. "You sure we're good?" Tom asked again, more nervous than he'd ever been.

"We're fine," Dempsey scoffed. "Easy." He had his headset on and Tom heard him speak into the mic and request clearance as he taxied to the runway.

There was the soft rumble of the planes wheels as they rolled across the asphalt and the mechanical whirring as the wings adjusted for take-off. Amid the noise, he heard something that didn't belong. It sounded like a voice yelling his name. It sounded like her voice. He tried to ignore it, but he heard a thump of something hard hitting the outside of the plane that prompted him to look out the window. For a moment, he didn't believe his own eyes. His heart skipped a beat when he realized he wasn't dreaming, Evie was running alongside the plane, screaming his name, soaked to the bone. "Hey, stop!" Tom yelled. "Please, stop!"

"What's the problem?" Dempsey asked. "We've got clearance. I'm ready to take this baby and fly the friendly skies."

"You don't understand," Tom said as he struggled to unlatch his seat belt. "She's out there."

Dempsey shrugged and began slowing down. "This is going to take more explanation, you know," he complained.

Tom kept his eyes on Evie as the plane lost speed, until it crawled to a creaky stop. He wrestled the door open and jumped down. Within seconds, she was in his arms, her wet hair clinging to his face, her heartbeat next to his. "I couldn't let you leave without me," she said as she looked up at him.

He could scarce believe she was there. "Darling, I'm so sorry," he gushed, his eyes filling with tears that matched hers. He kissed her, then kissed her again, each one more fraught with passion than the last. "I'll never leave you again." He hoisted her into the plane, then climbed back in.

"Hey," Dempsey protested. "She doesn't have her paperwork." He scowled, but Tom could see a good-natured twinkle in his eyes.

"Actually," Evie smiled as she reached into the bag that was hanging across her body, "I do." She pulled out a ticket as well as her passport and handed them to the pilot to inspect.

Tom was wide-eyed with disbelief. "How?"

"Sandro," she answered as she sat down.

"Well, looks great," Dempsey shrugged. He closed the door once again, called into the tower that they'd had a slight delay from a last-minute passenger change and announced, "Get your seat belts on, we're ready to rock and roll."

Tom sat next to Evie and put his own seat belt on. He grasped Evie's hands as the plane once again began its taxi. They gazed into each others eyes, letting the world and all its problems melt around them. Love, though a heart makes tender, also made theirs take flight.

~End~


End file.
